


Lovesick

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, BAMFs, Best Friends, Emotionally Repressed, Graphic Description, Illnesses, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, POV Alternating, Relationship(s), Self-Denial, Sick Sherlock, Sickfic, Surprise Villains, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Virgin Sherlock, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 111,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1574135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes lives at 221 B Baker Street with his best friend, Doctor John Watson. Their lives are disrupted by a series of mysterious ailments that trouble Sherlock, their cause unknown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Symptoms

**Author's Note:**

> This is post-series two and a willful ignoring of what happened in series three. I randomly jump POV from John to Sherlock at a whim.

 

John’s evening was going swimmingly with the appetisers behind them and the mains on the way when the first text came in. John ignored it. His date was very pretty if a bit dull and she was very impressed with John being a doctor. Five minutes later another text came in. John apologized to his date and glanced at his mobile. Two messages from Sherlock, “John I think something is wrong with me. - SH” “John I have just gotten spectacularly ill in the bathroom. Pick up more paper towels on your way home. - SH”

John groaned, apologized again and excused himself to the lobby to make a call, “Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

Sherlock’s voice was weak and trembly, “Nothing now. I was feeling very ill and then I got ill, but I feel just fi……..” the following noise put John right off his dinner. It went on for a bit and then John heard Sherlock washing up. After a moment at the sink Sherlock came back to the phone and continued like nothing happened, “fine now. 38 degrees is perfectly normal isn’t it?”

“Go lay down right now Sherlock. I’m coming home.” Sherlock had a fever. The man was actually ill. John couldn’t even be upset with his call. The last time Sherlock had gotten ill and failed to inform John things had gotten a bit shouty. Sherlock had then promised to ALWAYS inform John if he wasn’t well and to not leave it until he needed to be rushed to emergency and placed on life support. John apologized one last time to his date who was not even slightly pleased. She was deleting John’s number as he left the table.

The doctor picked up paper towels as well as some paracetamols. He wasn’t exactly sure if they had any left at the flat and if Sherlock was truly ill John wouldn’t have a chance to get away to get more supplies. He picked up a few other necessities and hurried back to 221 B.

Sherlock was on the sofa, his pale face tinged slightly green. He didn’t look good. John tutted over him instantly, fetching a glass of water and coaxing Sherlock to take two tablets and sip slowly. John felt Sherlock’s forehead. He was burning up. John helped the tall man up and shepherded him to his bedroom where he left Sherlock equipped with a bin to get sick into if he needed it as well as more water and a ginger-snap if he could nibble it down. Sherlock’s recoveries always worked better if treats were involved.

After cleaning up the disaster in the bathroom John went to check on Sherlock. The long lanky detective was out. John took the sleeping man’s temperature carefully. It had dropped a degree which was good news. John pulled up the abnormally comfortable armchair Sherlock kept in his room but never used and settled himself to keep vigil over his sick friend. It wasn’t usual for Sherlock to fall ill suddenly. He hated being ill and normally managed to shrug things off or magically make them not affect him. If anyone got ill at 221 B Baker Street it was normally John. John worried quietly, his eyes never leaving his best friend’s face as he watched him toss and turn.

John managed to fall asleep very late in the morning when Sherlock’s fever finally broke and he was shining with sweat. John gently sponged him clean and got the weary detective changed into fresh pajamas before tucking his patient back into an expertly re-made bed. Too tired to climb the stairs to his own bed John just stretched out beside Sherlock and fell hard asleep.

He woke several hours later with Sherlock wrapped all around him, still sleeping hard. John was ridiculously comfortable considering he was being snuggled by another man, albeit his best friend. Feeling a tiny bit guilty John snuggled back and enjoyed being held so tightly. John carefully felt Sherlock’s forehead. It seemed the normal temperature but the thermometer was behind John and he couldn’t be arsed to twist out of Sherlock’s rather inclusive embrace to get it. Sherlock was startled when he eventually did wake up. Almost scrambling away from John the detective’s eyes darted around the room. “What happened last night?”

“You had a fever, called me while I was on my date and spent the night keeping me awake. I was tired and kipped here.” Sherlock seemed to relax a bit and slowly sank back onto his bed. John was still tired and still very comfortable so he closed his eyes.

“So we slept together?” asked Sherlock with a small smile on his face. His head had slowly sunk back onto the pillow and John was enjoying Sherlock’s rough morning voice.  
.  
“Technically yes, as in what we did in bed with each other, the experience we shared was one of mutual unconsciousness. We slept.” John couldn’t resist joking with his best friend. Sherlock was a virgin by choice and had avoided all sexual contact rigorously. They’d shared a hotel room once, one with only a single bed. John was now parroting back Sherlock’s exact words when John had joked that Sherlock could now tell people honestly that he and John had finally slept together, implying that they’d had sex. John was then forced to listen to Sherlock expound on all the various meanings of the phrase “sleeping together”.

John could practically hear Sherlock rolling his eyes, “Thank you Doctor Watson.” John rolled out of bed and they started their day like normal. John did make Sherlock take it easy until he was certain the fever would not return but after a day or so he could hold the detective back no longer. Sherlock was on the case as soon as John gave him the okay.

Two weeks later John had managed to convince a rather pretty professor to have dinner with him. He’d made it all the way through the meal and had been right in the middle of ordering some fairly suggestive desserts when Sherlock’s first text came in. “hjonb mnuy dfijngrtrd sweklked uipo sh” John called right back, only pausing long enough to excuse himself, not waiting to hear his date’s reply.

“Sherlock, what happened?” John had left a perfectly healthy Sherlock sitting on the sofa reading medical journals and taking notes.

“Dzohn. I thwoll up. I canth texth becauth my fingerth arth thoooge!” John rolled his eyes. Sherlock was having some kind of allergic reaction. John went back to the table only to find his date had already left and had given him the bill as a thank-you. John couldn’t really blame her and paid without protest before rushing back to the flat.

Sherlock looked like someone had pumped him full of air. His entire body was slightly puffed up and he looked incredibly distressed. His eyes were squeezed nearly shut and his whole head was gently rounded, as was indeed, his entire body. John called 999 despite Sherlock’s garbled protests, his already generous lips now threatening to block off his nose, “Listen we have to get you to the hospital before we end up needing to call Willy Wonka to come press the juice out of you!”

The doctors couldn’t figure out what had triggered the reaction but got Sherlock on some medication which took the swelling away after a few hours. John sat by the hospital bed patiently reading cold case files out loud while Sherlock slowly deflated. John insisted on an allergy panel and Sherlock couldn’t protest his way out of it, especially when John showed Sherlock a picture he had snapped of a fully distended Consulting Detective.

They found nothing. Sherlock was perfectly healthy and allergy free. He had been allowed to come home immediately and the detective simply picked up life like usual. They worked cases; they ate too much take-away and watched too much crap telly. John and Sherlock spent a huge portion of their time with just each other because John was worried about Sherlock’s health but he seemed perfectly fine now.

One night John had managed to find an extremely pretty bird to take out. Sherlock SWORE he would not call unless absolutely necessary. John had met her at the pub when he’d gone out for drinks with Lestrade. She was small and lovely and had a sweet and girlish laugh. John was very interested. They’d gotten all the way through their meal, had mostly completed dessert and were nearly finished a rather good bottle of wine when John’s phone chirped. With a wince John excused himself and looked at the text. “I’m sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t call but look….” Sherlock sent a picture. His hand was covered with angry red blotches. “It started half an hour ago. What should I do?”

Sherlock had to be encountering something at the flat that was making him ill! John made Sherlock promise to meet him at emergency and paid for the meal before leaving the restaurant. He was nearly at the hospital before he realized he hadn’t even bid his date farewell. With a groan John called her up immediately, endured the yelling he deserved and then at her request, deleted her number from his mobile after she ended the call. Sherlock was at the emergency door when John’s cab pulled up. There were worrying red blotches on his neck now. Sherlock had broken out in hives.

 

* * *

 

Another night at the hospital saw Sherlock sorted out once again. John slumped in the uncomfortable chair beside Sherlock’s bed, “You know I should have a portable bed of my own at this place. I spend more time sleeping in chairs here than I do sleeping in my bed at home.”

“I’m sorry John.” Sherlock was itchy and trying hard not to scratch but he couldn’t stop himself and in the end John had to physically restrain the detective. They fell asleep with John holding Sherlock’s wrists. Mycroft walked into Sherlock’s hospital room early the next morning when John had his face planted incriminatingly in Sherlock’s lap while he snored vigorously, his short fingers still wrapped around Sherlock’s wrists as he slouched uncomfortably off the hard chair he was sitting on.

“Brother mine, it seems you have finally broken the heterosexual walls that kept you from your doctor.” Mycroft was amused but Sherlock was spitting venom.

“Shut up Mycroft. John was, as usual, just trying to help me out. I couldn’t stop scratching last night. He’s tired, alright?” John’s snores were unceasing as was his death-grip on Sherlock’s wrists. Sherlock needed to urinate but he wasn’t about to wake John up until absolutely necessary. His best friend had ruined yet another night out on Sherlock’s behalf and Sherlock wasn’t going to repay him by denying John much needed sleep merely for an overfull bladder.

“Brother mine, when are you going to give up this foolish pretense and simply admit the truth?” Mycroft stood behind John and inspected the sleeping doctor’s face. Sherlock felt a bizarre and almost uncontrollable urge to shield John from view. If John hadn’t been holding Sherlock’s wrists he might have done so but then, John wouldn’t be sleeping on his lap. Trapped Sherlock settled for glaring at Mycroft.

“There is no truth to admit Mycroft; I have no idea what you are talking about.” Sherlock decided he was going to ignore Mycroft now. He never had anything pleasant to say and always made Sherlock feel slow and bumbling though he’d NEVER admit it.

Mycroft looked almost surprised, “Really Sherlock? How many times have you fallen ill recently? In your entire life you have never once had problems like these. Doesn’t that say something to you?” Mycroft had one elegant eyebrow raised in a way that told Sherlock he was missing something blindingly obvious and that Mycroft was amused by it. Sherlock struggled not to react but he couldn’t help himself.

Avoidance! “It tells me I live in a particularly old building and regularly expose myself to all sorts of compounds. Reactions were bound to happen eventually, basic statistics.”

“Oh Sherlock, science is always your security blanket. Very well brother. There is no truth to admit. Take care. I see you are in good hands.” Mycroft’s eyebrow had returned to its normal pre-sneer position as the civil servant turned on his heel and with his umbrella, took himself away.

It wasn’t until they were safely home later than day, Sherlock ensconced comfortably on the sofa to continue recovering that he allowed himself to ponder Mycroft’s visit. Mycroft always made a point of visiting Sherlock whenever he ended up in hospital which was entirely unnecessary because John was always there. Sherlock didn’t need his brother to look after him. It was ridiculously sentimental and Mycroft should know better.

Sherlock huffed and gripped the cushions tightly. He had PROMISED John that he would not scratch while John made them dinner. It was killing Sherlock to deny himself but he couldn’t break an outright promise to John. Instead he dug his fingers into the fabric of the sofa and tried to imagine his skin was elsewhere.

Thankfully the hives were dealt with soon enough and it wasn’t long before John and Sherlock were racing through dank alleys chasing their latest case. These were always the best nights, nights where John was by his side, guarding his back, both men’s hearts racing with the thrill of the chase as Sherlock uncovered one clue after another until they’d solved everything.

John loved The Work as much as Sherlock did. That’s what made him the perfect partner. John was never dismayed by the things Sherlock was interested in. After the first few startling discoveries in their shared fridge John had simply adapted to Sherlock’s ways and even helped out by fetching fresh body parts from the morgue! He was the best flatmate and partner ever! Sherlock couldn’t do without John.

Still, John was a very social creature and always sought out more company than Sherlock could provide. Sherlock supposed it couldn’t be very interesting to watch the scientist do experiments in silence that lasted for hours. Sherlock did love to be watched though, he wouldn’t have minded but John always occupied himself with pub nights with Lestrade or his friends from the military or the clinic. Every now and again John would ask someone out on a date, like tonight. This one was called Mary.

Sherlock didn’t like this part. He was fine with pints and darts but when John put on his date shoes and crisply ironed his date shirt Sherlock always felt like he was losing John forever. That was patently ridiculous. None of the women John went out with could ever be as exciting as Sherlock. All they had were vaginas and that’s all John was interested in. Sherlock didn’t have one of those and until now he had never wondered why he would want one. He began to get an inkling though and it terrified him. Sherlock realised he didn’t actually want to be a woman. He was discovering that he wanted to have sex with John! WHAT?

Sherlock scolded himself immediately, giving his transport a good talking to once again. Sherlock hadn’t needed to do that since John had first moved in because Sherlock’s transport wasn’t use to sharing a home with someone else’s body. It had no business getting excited when John was around or at night when it knew John was lying upstairs in his bed as well. Sherlock was a being of pure intellect, superior to hormone addicted flesh-slaves who engaged in unhygienic behaviors of every revolting description merely to attain a few seconds of pleasure. Sherlock had discovered drugs which cut straight to the pleasure part and entirely bypassed the messy biological route. He’d been very happy with drugs until he’d been forced clean in order to work with the MET and before living with John.

No drugs meant no pleasure except for that The Work provided but it was enough. Sherlock had promised John that he would never do drugs again and he’d kept that promise. It was a big one but big or small a promise was a promise. Sherlock rarely gave them, he was careful with his wording to make his comments seem like promises when they weren’t but when he did, he followed through. After returning to life and winning his friend back Sherlock had given more promises to John than any other person alive.

The promise to cut down smoking, he’d done that. Now he only smoked after they’d solved a case, just one if they’d done well but sometimes two if they hadn’t been fast enough. John never complained. The promise to eat, that was a big one too but Sherlock had faithfully kept his word. Once a day at least Sherlock ate a proper meal and toast didn’t count. It wasn’t as much as John had hoped for but both of them understood what compromise was so they were satisfied. The promise to rest, if not sleep, Sherlock wouldn’t shut down lots of nights but John insisted that he at least rest his body if not his mind so for six hours a night Sherlock lay in his bed, pajama’d and tucked neatly up to his chin with his warm puffy duvet. It was tedious so Sherlock had trained himself to drift away almost immediately rather than endure hours of staring at his ceiling in the dark.

There was nothing romantic in these promises. John was a doctor and he felt obligated to care for Sherlock who normally had better things to do than worry about things like nutrition and REM cycles. It was just easier to give in to John’s very reasonable requests than it was to deal with the huffy grouchy John that snapped around the flat like a pincher crab when Sherlock had pushed him too far. It made Sherlock feel anxious and unhappy. Sherlock didn’t like that feeling so he avoided it. Sherlock preferred happy John, smiling John, laughing John. That’s what made Sherlock feel good, his John.

What? John wasn’t his! John wasn’t anybody’s. John could not be owned! He was a free man, bold and courageous. John was one of those shiny armour types, the small-town hero, boy-next-door and if Sherlock remembered correctly John had been the captain of his rugby team in school. Clearly John couldn’t be Sherlock’s type. Sherlock certainly wasn’t John’s type. No. John liked the Mary-types of the world.

Did Sherlock even have a type? Why was he thinking about this? Oh yes, Mycroft. Mycroft and his stupid eyebrow! Sherlock made a note to contrive a way to shave it off. Sherlock had never seriously considered choosing sides when it came to sexuality. He wasn’t straight. He had zero interest in women, though many of them were very interesting intellectually or artistically. He wasn’t interested in men though he did find men to be more esthetically pleasing. Sherlock had kept his personal attentions under strict control, only allowing for enough release to keep him healthy and no more. Orgasm wasn’t a vital function after all, it was merely a device used to attract mates to one another.

Sherlock thought about what attracted people to one another. He glanced at his mobile. John would be getting to the restaurant by now. Sherlock put the mobile down and sipped the tea that John had left him. Sherlock looked up attractiveness on John’s laptop. The internet wasn’t helpful at all. There was an infinite amount of discussion about that very topic and it all seemed very subjective.

Sherlock redefined his search and looked up classic references to standards of beauty and had much more success. This he could understand. Ancient Greeks especially had a fine esthetic, one that was logically spelled out. Sherlock spent a bit of time quickly reading articles on marble statuary. He looked at the images. One of them reminded Sherlock of John. The carved figure was compact, strong, armed with a sword and shield but his face was calm, almost gentle. That was what John was like. He was warm and caring all the way down to the unyielding stone at the core of him. John was filled with a dichotomy of characteristics, ones that Sherlock had always enjoyed.

Sherlock looked at the clock on the laptop. Dinner would be well under way. John and Mary would be chatting now, laughing. John would tell small jokes to put her at ease, gradually working his way up to the kinds of conversations that determined how early, if at all, John would be returning to Baker Street.

Sherlock bolted up off the sofa in an unthinking panic, tripping over the power cable to the laptop he’d forgotten he’d plugged in and then crashing into the coffee table which collapsed as it splintered jaggedly. That explained the rather large gash now in Sherlock’s right thigh as he lay on top of the wreckage. He called 999 himself before calling John.

John arrived at the hospital with Mary in tow. Sherlock despised her on sight. Her hair was dyed blond and she was unnecessarily curvaceous. She was also a nurse which alarmed Sherlock no end. Sherlock required splinters to be removed and stitches to be added. John spoke with the doctors in charge and oversaw the entire procedure while Mary waited patiently outside.

She helped them home. Sherlock loathed her but John had been grateful for the assistance, especially when getting Sherlock up the stairs proved awkward. Mary smelled nice too and Sherlock decided she had to go. “John, I’d like some quiet for a bit. Sorry Mary.”

“That’s alright. We were just heading out dancing anyway.” she smiled brightly at Sherlock who was stunned. John was leaving him with fresh stitches to go dancing? What if something happened? What if the flat caught fire and Sherlock died ignominiously because he couldn’t even limp his way to safety OR save Mrs. Hudson? Sherlock said nothing and just nodded stiffly. John was not his to keep so if he was going there was nothing Sherlock could say or do to prevent it. Sherlock’s leg must be causing sympathetic pains because Sherlock’s chest felt achy all of a sudden.

“Sorry Mary, you’ll have to get a rain-check on dancing. I’ll walk you out.” John just smiled at Mary and led her to the door while Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief which somehow triggered a release of the tension in his chest. He should have known to trust John. John was his doctor and he wouldn’t abandon Sherlock when he was really needed.

John was the best friend a man could ask for. After escorting Mary quickly to the door, not even staying long enough to fish for a kiss goodnight, John returned to Sherlock, made him tea and put on a nature documentary for the detective to enjoy while John cleaned up the remains of the coffee table and expertly removed the blood-stains from the carpet. When Sherlock felt up to it John made him a light dinner before helping Sherlock settle into bed for a night’s rest. “I’ll kip in the chair again. You’ll need to take your meds in a couple of hours.”

“Just sleep on the bed again John. It hurts my back watching you try to sleep in that chair.” Sherlock’s eyes were closing already. Losing blood always exhausted him. He was drifting away when he felt the mattress depress beside him. John was sleeping on the bed with Sherlock. Good. His doctor would watch over him and Sherlock felt safe enough to slip all the way into a recuperative sleep.

It took days for Sherlock to heal. He’d done an amazing job of hurting himself at home. It would have been wonderful to stay at the flat with John except that Mary kept popping by. Today she had brought fresh milk and a basket of muffins. Sherlock managed to spray a fungal compound on the basket before John could taste one. Apologizing effusively Sherlock looked suitably dismayed as he blamed his faulty equipment for the exposure, “I’m so sorry Mary! I’ve been meaning to replace this but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“That’s alright. I can bake up a fresh batch right here.” Mary took over the kitchen and Sherlock was furious. This was HIS domain! How was he supposed to complete his experiments when Mary was contaminating his laboratory with sugar and flour? Sherlock’s mouth worked soundlessly when she ruthlessly made herself a work area by cleaning away half of Sherlock’s ongoing experiments heartlessly. The unhappy gasp John made as he followed them into the kitchen was comforting but Sherlock couldn’t help but be upset that someone had RUINED his experiments for pastries sake! Sherlock took a breath and shut himself down, unwilling to cause a scene that might embarrass John. Mary stayed all afternoon too and made both of them eat one of her detestable muffins. John’s tea saved Sherlock from gagging.

Sherlock eventually excused himself to his room and sulked while a laughing Mary and John cleaned up. John wasn’t Mary’s John! John was Sherlock’s John! Why was she here anyway? She’d completely ruined Sherlock’s entire day with her interfering muffin-making. He’d have to start at least three of those experiments over from scratch and the compounds weren’t easy to obtain. Sherlock had cashed in some old favors to get some of them and was now going through his mental list of other favors that he could utilize to re-stock his supplies. It wasn’t looking good and that made Sherlock feel even glummer. The sounds around him seemed to fade and it felt like his ears were stopping up.

There was disturbing silence out front and Sherlock feared the worst. Sherlock wasn’t sure if there was nothing to hear or if his ears had somehow stopped working because the silence was deafening. What could be going on! Sherlock’s imagination ran wild. John and Mary were probably kissing in the kitchen now. Mary probably had her tongue in HIS John’s mouth right now, pressing her woman parts to his body. Sherlock wanted to scream. He nearly fell off his bed when his bedroom door pushed open and John walked in, “She’s gone. God Sherlock, let’s go to Angelo’s for dinner. Those were the worst muffins I’ve ever had.”

Sherlock was beaming. John helped him limp down the stairs to the street where they caught a cab the rest of the way to the restaurant. Sherlock was in very good humor and ate his entire meal, even deigning to share a dessert with John who was full but wanted some chocolate cake.

Still, it didn’t take long before Sherlock’s leg was aching again and they needed to catch a taxi back to Baker Street. Sherlock was forced to lean heavily on John during the ascent to their flat but the small soldier bore him up easily, fitting perfectly under Sherlock’s arm, exactly the right height to be comfortably useful. John kept rubbing encouraging circles on Sherlock’s lower back when the stairs got to be a bit much to deal with near the top but with John’s help Sherlock managed to get home.

John settled Sherlock on a chair in the kitchen so he could make tea. “Don’t tell Mary.” he said as he scraped the rest of her muffins into the bin where they belonged. John took the trash out and came back to help Sherlock to the sofa while they watched crap telly for a while until John was tired again. Sherlock’s leg was stiff and aching as he prepared for bed. He couldn’t be arsed to try and shimmy his way into pajama bottoms so he pulled on a tee-shirt to go with his pants and managed to get himself under his blanket.

It was cold and the room was too quiet. Sherlock lay there and stared at the ceiling. He was bored and he wasn’t able to make himself fall asleep like he’d been doing. John was probably well within his REM cycle now. Sherlock wondered what John dreamed about. The doctor had a very interesting mind; he saw things in a wholly different way than Sherlock. While he mused Sherlock’s mind drifted, only to be shocked into awareness by John’s terrified shouts.

John still had PTSD. He was clearly having another nightmare. Sherlock wished he could climb up the stairs to call softly to John from the doorway or to be able to get out of bed to reach his violin to play soothing music until the cries faded and John slept properly once more. Instead Sherlock heard the shouts cut off sharply and then a minute later, the heavy steps on the stairs from John’s room, “Sherlock?”

“I’m here John. Come in.” John looked awful. His bloodshot eyes ran over Sherlock anxiously, pausing at his head where Sherlock’s fake wound had spilled blood all over the pavement in front of St. Bart’s. John’s eyes looked suspiciously damp and Sherlock’s chest suddenly felt achy again. Instinctively he raised the corner of his duvet and was surprised when John climbed straight in and cuddled close to Sherlock. The small man was shaking and Sherlock was suddenly cognizant of the fact that he had never had this much of his bare skin touching another person before, even if John was wearing pajamas. “It’s alright John. I’m here. I’m alright. We’re okay.”

John nodded but didn’t say anything. He just lay pressed tight to Sherlock, struggling to control his breaths until they were steady and even. Sherlock lay there, acutely aware of the heat from John’s body, could smell that warm delectable scent of gun oil and tea that emanated from the doctor. John’s eyes remained shut, his face smoothing out and Sherlock realized that John had fallen asleep. Sherlock observed him carefully for a long time before deciding the nightmares were over for tonight. He allowed himself to fall asleep knowing that John wouldn’t be happy if Sherlock hadn’t rested properly. He slept deeply and well.


	2. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is very worried. Sherlock has been so ill and even Mycroft has become concerned.

Days passed and Mary kept coming by for unscheduled visits. Sherlock hated her but was forced to be extra polite because he didn’t want John to be unhappy with him. Instead Sherlock suffered through their shop-talk and tried not to have an anxiety attack when John casually mentioned the idea of starting a private practice. He and Sherlock had discussed it more than once. What alarmed Sherlock all over again was her cheerful remark, “I could work with you John! I’d love to be part of a small practice. We’d make a great team!” Mary’s credentials were impeccable. Sherlock had checked them with intense thoroughness. She’d be an excellent addition to John’s potential practice. Sherlock wanted to kill her on the spot.

John laughed and just shook his head, shooting a fond look at Sherlock, “It’s a nice idea Mary but it would never really happen, not with The Work. I couldn’t just leave my patients behind at the drop of a hat. Sometimes our cases take us out of London for days.” Mary looked confused but Sherlock was relieved to hear that John wasn’t catering to the idea, not now at least. It had always been a retirement plan anyway, for when they moved to Sussex where John said Sherlock could raise bees if he wanted.

“If you started a practice you wouldn’t need to do all that pointless running about. You’re an excellent doctor John.” she sounded very reasonable. She wasn’t wrong either. John was an undeniably talented doctor and from what Sherlock had heard, John had been an equally talented surgeon. Sherlock LOATHED Mary.

“Um, no? I wouldn’t stop doing The Work with Sherlock. It’s important. No one can do what Sherlock does. He’s amazing.” John looked fondly at his best friend once again and Sherlock smiled back happily. John had appreciated Sherlock openly right from the first day they’d met and he’d never stopped. It was as gratifying now as it had been the first time.

“Oh please John; there are whole divisions of people that do what Sherlock does. You aren’t even properly paid to do any of it! You’re a gifted doctor! I think you should focus on that instead of your little hobby.” Sherlock felt like Mary had punched him in the heart! She was denigrating The Work! John couldn’t be allowed to be swayed from The Work! He was necessary, MANDATORY for Sherlock to function properly!

John looked at Mary as if she’d lost her mind, “There may be a thousand detectives but there is only one Sherlock Holmes. This is a real job and NOT a hobby. We do get paid, not that it’s any of your business but we do quite well. I like my clinic work because it leaves me free to not be available whenever I need it. If I was forced to choose between being a doctor or helping Sherlock solve cases I’d choose Sherlock every time.”

Sherlock couldn’t look at John. John hadn’t said he’d choose The Work. John had just told Mary he’d choose SHERLOCK. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Sherlock felt incredibly happy now but refused to share his buoyant mood with the detestable Mary who would NOT leave!

“Wow you should marry him if you love him so much.” said Mary blandly. John choked and coughed up some tea and Sherlock stared at his feet, his happiness completely extinguished. Mary had no idea what she was talking about. John didn’t love Sherlock, not in the wedded-bliss kind of way. No one did. Sherlock knew he was fortunate and that he and John were best friends, mates, comrades and partners. That was it. That’s all they’d ever be. It was the very most Sherlock could ever hope for from someone, especially from someone extraordinary like John.

Suddenly Sherlock felt very tired. He couldn’t deal with Mary anymore, not without saying something about her disturbing taste in shoes or the weird manner her skirt bunched over her stomach in a very odd sort of way, not exactly unattractive but disquieting nonetheless. “John, I’m going to take a nap.” That information pleased Mary no end. Doubtless she would use this opportunity to press her suite with John. Sherlock felt hopeless and dispirited as he just gave up trying to understand how he felt and left them alone, closing the door to his bedroom with a soft click.

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later John pushed his way back into bedroom with Sherlock, flopping easily down onto the bed next to his best friend. John looked at Sherlock’s surprised expression, clearly he hadn’t expected to see John so the doctor explained, “I showed her the door. I can’t believe she thinks so little of what we do together! Unbelievable!” John was outraged, especially when he took in the despondent expression on his best friend’s face. John had really liked Mary too. She was funny and witty, very pretty and she had a fantastic smile. Yes she was a terrible cook but nobody was perfect, well, except Sherlock, but not everyone could expect to be magnificent all the time the way Sherlock was.

Mary had hurt Sherlock’s feelings. John knew it and had instantly bristled. Sherlock was very sensitive about The Work and whenever anyone was dismissive of the effort it took, something sweet and filled with innocent joy inside Sherlock crumpled and died. John didn’t like that one bit. Sherlock was amazing, fantastic and simply incredible! Just because John had said the same things a thousand times before didn’t make them any less true each and every time. 

Sherlock was amazing, that’s all there was to it. He was John’s very best friend, the most important friend John had! Sherlock was big and beautiful, a burning comet that raged across John’s sky in a blinding display of never-ceasing brilliance. Mary had no idea and John wasn’t sure he cared to educate her. His own pride was a bit stung too. Sherlock worked best with John, everyone said so. How dare she even suggest they stop working together! It sounded like she didn’t even think it was work at all! That was inconceivable and she had NO right trying to push her opinions on them. 

Mary had hit on John the second Sherlock was out of sight, all fluttering eyelashes and suggestive smiles. She’d tried to step closer but John had just led her to the front door, not caring if her expression was surprised and a little peeved. John could hardly keep his manners when he’d ended her visit. Sherlock’s abrupt departure had put an instant damper on John’s social mood. Mary had been very surprised to be escorted to the street with only a vague promise to call her sometime soon.

John was wondering about his lingering attraction to Mary because it was still present despite all her stumbles. The muffins? That was hard to deal with but not nearly as terrible as watching the anguish on Sherlock’s face when he had entered the kitchen right after Mary and witnessed her chucking two trays of carefully laid out experiments into the bin! John regretted not going right into the kitchen with her. He could have stopped her. John had a special cupboard waiting to temporarily store Sherlock’s experiments. It would have taken only a moment but she hadn’t asked, hadn’t paused, hadn’t waited. John’s heart had actually hurt when Sherlock’s eyes cut to the bin where his ruined work now lay and then the scientist’s eyes had shuttered, all emotion leaving them as Sherlock’s defense system clicked into place.

John never liked that. Over the years he’d watched Sherlock carefully examine one new feeling at a time, grow slowly comfortable admitting he had them and that it wasn’t debilitating. Sherlock not pretending to be a high-functioning sociopath was a funny man, clever and a little bit silly, filled with charming stories and engaging conversation. Mary had walked into 221 B and shut that man off, bringing back the cold wordless Sherlock of old. John had chided Mary about throwing away the experiments but she had laughed it off, not taking John seriously even when he explained that Sherlock’s research was vital to The Work. She’d snorted and gone on to ransack their shelves for ingredients. John had managed to be pleasant with her just long enough to get her out of the flat and then had treated Sherlock to dinner.

John regretted bringing up the private practice idea earlier today. Medicine was the only major thing he had in common with Mary so he’d mentioned the idea just to make conversation. That’s all it was, just an idea that he and Sherlock sometimes bandied around when they idly planned their retirement years. A small clinic would give John something to do while Sherlock raised bees, that had been the concept but John hadn’t gotten far enough in his story to tell Mary that, she’d made her offer and derailed the conversation. Mary was so entirely convinced that medicine was all John was capable of was very off-putting. He was pretty sure he’d told her he had been a soldier first but apparently his medical license had been her primary focus. Still when she’d offered to work for John he had seen that distressed look cross Sherlock’s face for only a blink before it was smoothed away. Sherlock didn’t care for Mary and that raised flags inside John.

Not only was Sherlock a brilliant detective he was also intuitive though he’d deny it to his grave. All the people he automatically insulted always turned out to be the most despicable people around, those that enjoyed worsening the lot of everyone around them out of pure selfishness. If Sherlock didn’t like Mary, even if he never said so, well, in John’s mind that meant something noteworthy. John was already having serious doubts about continuing his burgeoning relationship with Mary. Overall John quite liked her and he did find her very physically appealing. Maybe that was it. Maybe it had just been so long since John had gotten off with anyone but himself that he was feeling anxious for human contact, contact that Mary was very clearly interested in making.

Mary’s final comment about marrying Sherlock was totally off as well. John was sure she had meant it as a joke, an offhand remark meant to amuse and not to hurt but John knew that particular arrow was one of Sherlock’s great weaknesses. Sherlock felt unloved. John knew it. Sherlock’s family was stiff and formal, unaffectionate though loyal. Sherlock definitely had feelings, John had seen them peek shyly out from the facade of Sherlock’s upbringing but while Sherlock was a genius of unparalleled skills he was also a very lonely man who had decided long ago that he wasn’t worthy of being loved. He never sought it. Still, Mary hadn’t known that so despite how it made him feel John couldn’t hold the comment against her.

Sherlock’s constant social isolation always bothered John. He knew the Holmes’ well enough after all these years to be able to read between the lines, to see the truth obscured in their nearly perfect poker faces but John wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t quick like Sherlock but John was intelligent and had a keen memory. Once he learned something he never forgot and after five years of constant Holmes exposure John Watson had become something of a translation expert. Mary’s comment was wounding because Sherlock knew he’d never marry, that though John had conceded to be his friend it was unlikely that Sherlock would ever meet anyone able to deal with his extremes enough to wed him. Sherlock was absolutely convinced he would be alone forever; he used to say it all the time, “Alone is what I have.”

John and Sherlock lay side by side, lost in their private musings, both comfortable with one another and not needing words. John liked that. He liked being with Sherlock who never once thought it was strange that a forty –year-old man was as addicted to adrenalin as he had been in his youth, and who thought that having more scars than unmarked skin was cool. Sherlock had never planned to marry so he had also never planned to settle down. He lived life without boundaries and John lived it with him and he didn’t even need to dress up to do it.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock looked at John, a bit amazed that John had chosen to hang around with him rather than go out with the obviously interested Mary. They lay side by side for a long time. John was clearly lost in thought and Sherlock liked that. It was comfortable being beside John, he was steady and unassuming. Right now Sherlock felt decidedly unsteady, he needed to do something. “You know I can make muffins too.” groused Sherlock. He knew he sounded querulous and out of sorts. He had no idea why he’d just made his last statement either but John looked interested.

“Yeah? We still have cup-liners. Want a hand?” John was actually smiling at Sherlock and he really did seem interested. Sherlock had never made muffins before but it couldn’t possibly be difficult. It was just a basic series simple chemical reactions and he’d noted Mary’s technique could have used some improvement when it came to combining the components.

Sherlock got right up and went to the kitchen, his tiredness completely forgotten. With John’s help he assembled everything he would need. Sherlock didn’t need a recipe. He knew the reaction he was going for and it was a very straight-forward procedure. Carefully he filled each cup of the muffin tray with the batter he’d come up with and set it in the oven to bake for the appropriate amount of time. If everything went the way Sherlock had calculated the muffins would be ready in only twenty minutes.

John ate nearly all of them. The doctor fell asleep on the sofa covered in muffin crumbs, his half-finished tea sitting on the cardboard box they were currently using as a coffee table. Sherlock felt strangely content and triumphant at the sight of his best friend laid out in a food coma. While John slept on the sofa Sherlock returned to the kitchen and set his experiments up for a second run. He only had enough components for half of them which was very frustrating but after making muffins for John Sherlock discovered he didn’t mind so much.

Mary called, waking John up. While Sherlock scowled Mary reminded John of his rain-check to take her dancing. There was someplace she wanted to go so John agreed to take her the next evening. Sherlock had hoped a case would come up, something exciting enough to keep John so occupied he forgot all about his date with Mary but no matter how hard Sherlock wished the next evening arrived without delay.

Sherlock lay on the sofa, seemingly lost in research while nested into the sofa with a blanket but in reality he was just aimlessly opening and closing windows in an effort to look occupied. Sherlock didn’t want John to go out tonight. John would have a great time. Once Mary had John alone they’d enjoy themselves. John was a gentleman, he’d see her home. It would probably be late. He’d walk her to her door and she’d expect a kiss. Why wouldn’t she. They’d been sort-of dating for a while now. 

Sherlock was devastated and hollow feeling but he couldn’t explain why. John had dated for years and Sherlock had never felt like this. Sherlock cast his mind back to the early days of 221 B and tried to recollect some of the forgettable women John had trysted with. Sarah. She had been unbearable. There was a Jeanette in there somewhere and a whole host of indistinguishable female companions, most of whom Sherlock had frightened away.

Mary wasn’t frightened of Sherlock. She’d used their fridge without batting an eye and Sherlock knew for a fact there was a whole arm in the meat drawer. She’d ruthlessly ruined his kitchen table experiments though and Sherlock could never forgive her for that. John had even protested but she’d just laughed and continued, uncaring.

Finally Sherlock registered that John was standing right in front of him and was waiting for Sherlock to notice him. “How do I look?” Sherlock tried not to sigh. John looked divine. He was always so compact, made of soft edges and hard muscle. John was wearing a snug shirt and his second nicest pair of trousers. John would be too warm in a jumper while dancing but suddenly Sherlock wished John would wear every single jumper he owned, just to cover up his completely lovely body. He’d be covered in sweat, glistening and salty and suddenly Sherlock’s mouth watered.

Sherlock swallowed hard, clearing his throat as he did so, “Very respectable John, Mary will be pleased.” Sherlock was interested in how glum John looked, “Are you alright?”

“Not really. I don’t feel like going out tonight actually but I told Mary I would.” John shuffled around and looked at Sherlock hopefully, “You feeling alright?”

Sherlock felt his forehead. Perfectly normal. He looked at his hands. Blotch free and un-swollen. Sherlock looked up at John, “Totally healthy.” and Sherlock was gratified to see that John was almost disappointed.

“Right, I guess I’ll be off. I’ll be in a club so I’ll set my mobile to vibrate if you need to call.” Sherlock gave John a weak smile as the doctor left but even that effort was vanquished as the silence of the flat utterly crushed Sherlock. He sat in lonely unmoving quiet for a whole hour before Mycroft arrived. Sherlock’s despair sank to the greatest depths yet.

“Good evening Sherlock. It’s a rather fine night, isn’t it?” Mycroft’s inane platitudes did nothing to cheer Sherlock, “I see you are minus one blogger at the moment, off sowing his oats is he?”

“Shut up Mycroft. What do you want?” Sherlock didn’t have it in him to seriously insult Mycroft. He was too busy dying inside. John and Mary were at some club somewhere by now, swaying together or trying out some of those modern moves that Sherlock didn’t understand. 

“I merely stopped in to see that you were well. It wouldn’t do to interrupt your 'flatmate’s' date with another medical emergency. Dancing wasn’t it?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. He hadn’t faked the last few trips to the hospital. He’d never willingly give himself hives or make himself swell up like a balloon. He’d looked horrid for days even with the medicine and John had kept that wretched picture. Sherlock had a headache now, just from thinking of it.

Suddenly Mycroft was looking at Sherlock hard. Sherlock felt bleary, worse than before. His throat felt tight, “What. Why are you staring?”

“Sherlock, are you sure you feel alright?” What was Mycroft going on about? Apart from a small headache Sherlock felt fine and told his brother so, his voice going strangely hoarse and high pitched by the time he finished speaking, “Sherlock? Sherlock, can you breathe? Sherlock, I’m calling an ambulance.”

The air whistling desperately through his nose a heartily panicked Sherlock suddenly struggled to breathe. He was clawing his throat. Mycroft was actually holding him, keeping him from flailing everywhere as he fought to get air into his lungs at more than a too-slow trickle. Sherlock was blacking out by the time the paramedics arrived and didn’t recall anything that happened after that.

Sherlock woke up with John sleeping slumped over the edge of his bed. Sherlock reached out and ran his fingers over John’s hair without thinking about what he was doing. John woke up and caught Sherlock’s hand and clutched it before Sherlock could pull it away entirely, “Don’t try to talk Sherlock. They have you intubated. Your throat swelled up suddenly and you nearly asphyxiated. If Mycroft hadn’t been there…..”John trailed off and Sherlock realized John was having a hard time speaking, “If your brother hadn’t been there I would have come home tonight to find your body on the floor.”

Sherlock wished he could say something to sooth John’s distress but the tube down his throat prevented it. Instead Sherlock tugged John up until he could give him an awkward hug which John seemed to appreciate. Sherlock took John’s hand and patted it warmly, happy to have his best friend by his side when he was doing so poorly.

The exam that came with the first group of doctors that swarmed his beside shortly afterward was no picnic. Sherlock was glad to be rid of the tube but was cautioned to remain unspeaking for at least a day, just in case. Neither he nor John were happy about that but even John gave Sherlock a warning glare when the detective opened his mouth to refuse. Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut and he held his tongue.

Mary showed up right after they got back to the flat. Even John was surprised by her appearance but she just breezed in and took over the kitchen, making a meal that Sherlock couldn’t eat and that John didn’t want, oblivious to the reactions of both men as she invaded their personal space. Sherlock couldn’t even employ his trademark series of insulting observations that would reduce Mary to tears and cause her to flee the flat, hopefully never to return.

Instead Sherlock was forced to tolerate her endless flirtation with John, the quip and parry of her wiles. John seemed to be responding too and inside Sherlock burned with hate. John wasn’t hers! He simply wasn’t! John wasn’t anyone’s and if he was someone’s he would be Sherlock’s! He had to get rid of Mary somehow. Sherlock’s vision started to go black and he almost called out to John despite the injunction to remain quiet.

Mycroft showed up and Sherlock had never been so happy to see his brother. He was seriously considering giving Mycroft a hug or at least a warm clap on the back when Mycroft begged Mary’s pardon and asked her to leave as he had serious business to discuss with Sherlock and John. The blackness seemed to recede of its own accord and Sherlock decided to not mention it.

Mycroft looked Sherlock over and turned to John, “Doctor Watson, I am very concerned about Sherlock’s health. It has never been so irregular. I will be out of the country for some time so I have come to you with a proposition.”

John looked skeptically at Mycroft, “What do you want Mycroft?”

“The same thing you want Doctor Watson, to make sure Sherlock is doing well. I will be gone for some weeks. I worry enough for my little brother when I am here, I’m afraid my concern for him and his tenuous health will be terribly distracting unless I make provisions for his care.” Sherlock felt a bit uneasy. Mycroft could insist that Sherlock be kept at an institution somewhere to be observed and kept swaddled. Panic began to set in and Sherlock paled substantially.

“Spit it out Mycroft. Just get to the point.” John glared balefully at Mycroft. John never appreciated being strong-armed into doing things. Mycroft had made many mistakes with his approaches to John over the years and now they interacted with one another cautiously.

Mycroft’s face was entirely serious, “You are my brother’s only friend and I wish to rely on your companionship while I am away. By this I mean I want you to dedicate one hundred percent of your time to Sherlock, forgoing your clinic work as well as your social life for the duration of my absence. I will of course make reparations for your loss of income but in no way do I wish you to consider yourself Sherlock’s physician. I only wish for you to keep him under constant supervision as his friend. This last incident disturbed me greatly. It took only a few minutes Doctor Watson, it happened right in front of me.”

John had started to object on principle. He didn’t like doing anything Mycroft asked any more than Sherlock did. At the last sentence though Sherlock could see all of John’s objections dry up, “I don’t need to be paid to look after Sherlock. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you Doctor Watson. I feel much relieved. I will be leaving tomorrow afternoon. If there is anything you require on Sherlock’s behalf you need only contact Anthea. Sherlock, I trust you find this an agreeable arrangement? If not I could make others.” Mycroft meant an institution and Sherlock knew it. No, this arrangement was perfectly fine, better than fine. Now John had no reason to ever be away from Sherlock until the elder Holmes returned and Sherlock silently hoped Mycroft got kidnapped while he was overseas. He nodded and Mycroft simply took his leave.

John made tea. He let it cool before he gave it to Sherlock but had added extra sweetener to make up for it so Sherlock sipped it slowly and let it sooth his ravaged throat. John made Sherlock a thick nourishing soup to drink, blending everything until it was smooth and easy to eat. While Sherlock carefully spooned his meal down John cleaned the kitchen. He seemed to be in a bit of a temper and Sherlock wasn’t sure why, but he was beginning to feel dismayed as he realized John was probably feeling crabby because Mycroft was making John stay with Sherlock instead of living his life like normal.

John began to mutter, “She used all the cheese. It wasn’t even in the meal! Did she eat it? How many pans does it take to make chicken? I’m going to be washing dishes until Mycroft gets home.” Oh. John was upset about the mess Mary had left behind. John wasn’t even saving the leftovers and he was normally a very frugal man. Instead John was binning everything and sorting out the dishes. John had eaten sparingly of the meal Mary had made. He must be hungry, that’s why he was grouchy.

Sherlock got up and rummaged through their catch-all drawer until he found the handful of take-away menus they kept. He handed them to John along with his mobile and his bankcard. John looked irritated but Sherlock just shook the handful of menus in front of his face until John sighed, picked one and ordered a meal in for himself, getting another soup for Sherlock to reheat later.

John began to wash dishes but Sherlock came and hip-bumped him over. While Sherlock carefully washed each item John dried and stored everything back in its proper place. They were nearly done by the time John’s dinner arrived so Sherlock pushed him to the table to eat while Sherlock finished up.

The kitchen was sparkling clean and inviting by the time John’s meal was concluded. The doctor bagged up the trash and took everything, including Mary’s left-overs, to the bins in the alley. When he came back Sherlock was surprised to see John pull out Sherlock’s experiment trays and set them on the table. John looked at Sherlock and said, “Make a list.”

Oh! Mycroft had told John to get anything he needed to look after Sherlock with from Anthea. John was brilliant! Mycroft would know very well what Sherlock liked to do in his spare time and getting all the compounds for his experiments was always difficult. Anthea could make it happen easily. Happily Sherlock used John’s mobile to compose a lengthy wish-list, presenting it to John with a silent flourish. John looked it over, added one or two things and sent it off. “May as well get some use out your brother, right?”

John was the best friend a man could ask for! Now Sherlock would be kept gainfully occupied, safe at home with his blogger to watch over him. Life was very nearly perfect. Now that dinner was behind them both men just climbed into their pajamas and robes before settling down to watch telly together. It was relaxing and calming for both men, the lack of conversation not troubling either man. When it was time for bed though John blushed a bit but looked straight into Sherlock’s eyes, “I think we should keep sleeping together. I need to watch over you and I can’t very well do that from my room.”

Sherlock had no objections but for some reason he felt he ought to make them. He didn’t give in to the impulse though and just nodded his head and headed to his room. They took turns in the bathroom and when they finally settled into bed John just said goodnight and shut the bedside lamp off, leaving them in darkness. Sherlock felt no more uncomfortable now than he had when he had been sitting on the sofa next to John. It felt relaxing even because John radiated quite a bit of heat and it was strangely soothing. His breathing was very regular too, relaxing almost. Sherlock shut his eyes and took in the familiar scent of the doctor. It was reassuring to know he was so very close. Feeling safe once again Sherlock slipped away instantly.

 

* * *

 

John lay in the dark beside a sleeping Sherlock and thought about his life. Nothing was working out the way John had expected and while he wasn’t precisely unhappy John had hoped for more than that. John wanted something and he wasn’t exactly sure what. When he was younger he had wanted to settle down early, begin a family and watch them flourish. With exuberance though, John had joined the army and thoughts of having a family slowly bled away. The only interest that remained from John’s younger days was sex.

He hadn’t had any in months and he was definitely missing it. Mycroft was going to be gone for weeks so anything with Mary would have to be put off until then. She had annoyed him tonight and that probably wasn’t a good sign but John wasn’t really loving her help-herself attitude. John liked visiting with Mary because she was relatively interesting but all her unexpected drop-ins were making Sherlock skittish. She wanted to go out on a proper date but John couldn’t possibly go out with her unless Sherlock came with them and that wouldn’t exactly make her drop her drawers for John.

John then wondered if he even wanted to get inside Mary’s pants. She was as attractive as ever, her breasts slightly more than a handful each, tempting John to see if they would spill from his fingers as he held them. Her hips were perfectly rounded too, not girlishly narrow but lush and womanly. Her lips looked lovely too but John had yet to kiss them despite the amount of time they had known one another. Somehow a kiss between them had just not occurred though Mary had given John many opportunities.

Suddenly John felt Sherlock’s questing hand patting around the bed. Once those long digits reached John’s bare arm they latched on and Sherlock pulled himself right up and snuggled in tight, still sleeping soundly and unaware of what he was doing. John smiled and lifted his arm, amused that a completely unconscious Sherlock instantly tucked his head onto John’s shoulder and sleepily draped his long arm and leg over John’s body.

John rather liked it. Sherlock was heavy and oddly cool feeling, siphoning off all the excess heat that normally roasted John through the night. He generally slept with only a sheet and not a sub-arctic worthy duvet like Sherlock did. John felt comfortably held into place, just the right temperature and it felt neat to feel Sherlock’s steady heartbeat thrum against John’s ribs. Sherlock smelled beguiling too and John fell asleep with his nose buried in Sherlock’s curls, trying to decipher the scents he picked up while he sorted out his feelings for Mary.

Maybe it should have felt strange to wake up with Sherlock still in his arms but all John was aware of was that he hadn’t had a nightmare. He’d slept all through the night peacefully and for the first time in ages he felt focused when he opened his eyes. Thoughtfully he rubbed his cheek against Sherlock’s head, not recognizing his tender motions until Sherlock slowly stirred and woke. John was startled to feel himself react to Sherlock yawning and stretching beside him. John had a moment of panic when Sherlock’s thigh finally lifted off of John’s hip and grazed over his half-hard cock. Sherlock’s entire body elongated and then retracted as he curled back into his sleepy snuggle. It took a few blinks before Sherlock’s brain entirely engaged and he realized he was cuddling John in bed.

John let Sherlock retreat with dignity. He made no mention of their embrace and Sherlock seemed to appreciate it. Instead John just got up and yawned his way through his morning routine like usual. Sherlock had hours to go before he was allowed to try speaking but the clever detective just handed John his mobile and began texting John though they were side by side. John couldn’t stop laughing, especially when Sherlock spent a hilarious hour using emoticons and text-talk along with a heavy helping of street slang.

John made soft-boiled eggs for breakfast and Sherlock was hungry enough to finish two. When they were done John contacted the clinic he sometimes worked for and cleared his schedule for six weeks which was how long Mycroft was going to be gone for. John sat at the kitchen table for a long time, sipping his tea and thinking of Mary. His thumb grazed over her number several times and eventually he just put his mobile away.

They went to the airport and spent the morning to see Mycroft off in trade for the rather large amount of supplies that Anthea had managed to assemble for the duo. After some paperwork and other legalities Mycroft gave John a brief lecture about excesses but then privately thanked John one more time for knowing how to distract and watch Sherlock. On the way back they then detoured to the hospital even though Sherlock texted complaints the entire way. After an exam the detective was given a clean bill of health and told he could go back to speaking and eating like normal.

They had Thai. Sherlock gobbled down his entire serving and chattered the entire time as if he needed to make up all the conversation he’d missed in the last day. John was very content to listen to Sherlock as he skipped and hopped all over the place as one thing led to another at Sherlock’s normal frenetic speed.

Mary called. John just set down his fork and answered. Listening for a minute John shook his head and spoke into the phone, “Sorry Mary, I’m working then. Yeah, that night too, no it won’t be for the clinic. I’m actually booked for quite a lot of work. I don’t see a window for well over a month. Yes I’m checking my schedule.” John wasn’t. He wasn’t technically lying. He was booked for weeks, twenty-four hours a day with Sherlock.

Out of curiosity Sherlock logged into the bank they shared. He looked at John’s account which of course he had access to; John wasn’t very imaginative with passwords and always used just one for all his accounts so Sherlock had made a point of changing John’s passwords for him on a regular basis, just telling John what his new word of the day was when it happened. John had given up protesting years ago when it came to his computer related life. John’s account balance was extremely healthy. Checking closely Sherlock saw that Mycroft had paid John an entire month’s worth of wages as if he worked at the clinic full time instead of just the odd weekend here and there. Logging out Sherlock checked his messages, trying to give John some privacy at their table while he talked with the intruder Mary.

Just thinking about Mary made Sherlock choke and sputter. His throat felt scratchy all of a sudden. He grabbed up a napkin and tried to stifle his hacking coughs. John snapped at Mary and ended his call. When Sherlock felt John’s hand rub soothing circles between his shoulder-blades Sherlock felt his lungs relax and the cough seemed to vanish. John really was an excellent doctor. “Apologies John, I think I drank a bit too fast.”

“It happens to everyone Sherlock. It was a good reason to hang up anyway.” John didn’t seem happy and now Sherlock regretted not eavesdropping. John sighed and just looked at Sherlock, “Want to have a day out?”

They hadn’t done that in ages. Immediately cheerful Sherlock went back online and looked up London’s social calendar. There were all sorts of things happening and between the two of them John and Sherlock plotted a meandering course through the city to enjoy exhibitions, food and music.

It was loads of fun. Both men were happy and weary when they finally made their giggly way back to the flat. They stopped off to visit with Mrs. Hudson and to give her the present they’d found at a craft fair, a funky airtight container to store her herbal soothers in. She was thrilled. When they got back upstairs Sherlock played the violin for John while John cooked dinner. They ate with great enjoyment; Sherlock being very fond of John’s cooking which was always delicious and perfectly prepared.

That evening featured more crap telly, a sci-fi movie John loved that Sherlock liked because it was about pirates. Sherlock felt very happy and his whole body nearly tingled with the healthful and nurturing atmosphere that John provided so effortlessly. Getting lost in the movie Sherlock slouched onto the sofa until he keeled over entirely, his bum pressed to John’s hip as his legs hung over the edge.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock looked horribly uncomfortable to John but he was smiling and laughing at the movie so John didn’t say anything about how incredible it was that Sherlock’s body was even capable of bending that way. His butt was squishing John’s thigh and hip too but since it was also the hip that ached the warmth from Sherlock’s rather generous behind was very soothing so again, John said nothing. He watched the movie with only part of his attention. He was thinking of the call from Mary earlier. Sherlock had been surprisingly decent about saying nothing and didn’t even to appear to have listened, a fact for which John was very glad.

Mary now worked at the same clinic John did. He hadn’t been very pleased to hear that she had been taken on during their search for an emergency replacement for one of their regular nurses who had separated from her long-time husband and abruptly moved away. Mary had been excited and had thought John would be pleased. He had politely congratulated her but hadn’t offered to take her out to celebrate. She’d suggested it which had led into John’s review of his schedule and Mary’s following cutting remarks.

She’d gone right for the throat. Mary informed John that his relationship with Sherlock was toxic and unhealthy. She was of the opinion that John enabled the worst sort of behavior in Sherlock by way of giving into his ceaseless, and to her mind, childish demands. She also felt that all Sherlock’s illnesses were either falsified or self-induced specifically to keep John close. Clearly she had been leading up to some kind of ultimatum except that Sherlock started choking right in front of John so he’d ended the call without further discussion. He hadn’t spoken to her since.

John thought about his life with Sherlock. Yes he did get hurt a lot because of it but John wouldn’t categorize his relationship with his best friend as toxic! If anything it was healthy, giving and very satisfying for both men. John needed the excitement to keep him centered and Sherlock needed the mystery to keep from imploding. Both men worked flawlessly together and it was a beautiful thing! John’s presence in Sherlock’s life had improved the lot of the wild young man noticeably. Everyone who had ever known Sherlock had remarked to John about what an improvement he’d made with the detective.

Sherlock’s illnesses though. That’s what had made John burn with anger. Sherlock was of course completely capable of engineering his own illness but he would never choose something that left him helpless and humiliated! That swelling thing? Sherlock was a vain man and he never would have done that to himself, full body stretch marks had been a real possibility that night. Sherlock had nothing against the odd scar in the name of science but not every inch of his porcelain skin! The hives? Sherlock had itched horribly and it had looked grotesque. Also, Sherlock had never done anything to himself that had brought him as close to death as nearly asphyxiating in front of his own brother! Sherlock would rather die for real before intentionally displaying any weakness in front of Mycroft and Mycroft had actually hugged Sherlock with relief when he’d gotten better! If Sherlock had been faking anything Mycroft would have picked up the ruse instantly.

John needed to do something about Mary. He still liked her well enough even though right now he was very angry with her. John would need to go grocery shopping again, he wasn’t used to providing for three people and Mary seemed to be coming over every single day now. John wasn’t sure why he felt so odd about her working at the same clinic. John had dated from the clinic before and it hadn’t been a problem so what was it about Mary? John realized he’d slouched back and was lying back with one arm stretched out on the sofa and the other resting lightly on Sherlock’s hip and thigh.

The second John noticed it was like his arm became super-sensitized. He wasn’t sure how long his arm had been resting on Sherlock’s backside but he was very comfortable. Sherlock’s behind was firm and warm, gorgeously padded and his thighs were strong and so warm. For an incredibly hard to resist moment John wanted to roll onto his own hip and grind into that lush posterior. Startled John jerked his arm away and got up, taking himself to the bathroom.

It was difficult to pee with an erection. John had to sit on the toilet to accomplish it and then had to struggle to get rid of the damn thing before he could rejoin Sherlock who was still sprawled ass up on the sofa. He gave himself a quick lecture about respecting Sherlock’s choice to remain chaste, John couldn’t touch, not like that! For Sherlock’s sake John had to control himself. John cared too deeply for his best friend to force an issue as personal as that. The doctor took a deep breath and returned to the front. John sat in his chair and tried to pretend he hadn’t just gotten a boner from touching his male flatmate’s ass. John was upset with himself. He thought he’d gotten this all under control ages ago! Sherlock hadn’t seemed to notice anything so John kept his mouth shut and focused intently on the end of the movie.

When it was over Sherlock just yawned, stretched and headed to his room without a word. John groaned to himself. He had to sleep with Sherlock now, all night, and it was a good bet that Sherlock would cuddle him. This was going to be awkward. John brushed his teeth for as long as he could, shaved before sleep which wasn’t usual and dawdled as long as he could while he had a sexual-crisis melt-down.

He’d been through this already, five years ago now! His initial crush on Sherlock had ripened and matured as their friendship had grown. John had admitted to himself that he cared deeply for Sherlock and then had worked hard to get control of his urges and had succeeded for a long time. What had changed? John still wasn’t gay. He was still interested in women, wasn’t he? This was the worst time ever to be having spontaneous erections around his best friend. Sherlock had been so ill; it would be monumentally unfair to test his reserves by toying with his clearly declared non-sexual status. What was John thinking? He shook his head and washed his face with ice cold water. 

John had to stop thinking about deflowering Sherlock. He’d fantasized over it for so long, it had taken months of cohabitation in the beginning before John was controlled enough to act normally around his unfairly handsome flatmate. Oh god that ass though! What John would do to it! Any lingering doubts he’d ever had about his ability to stay aroused when being intimate with a man had been resolved years ago. Sherlock’s ass had been a heavy player in the mental images John used to get off too for a long time. Right now, more than ever, John needed to focus on Sherlock’s precarious health and not his exuberant libido.

Going to bed was the hardest thing John had ever done. Sherlock was already drowsing under the duvet, his back to John for which the doctor was grateful. He still had a semi-hard cock to hide and he didn’t relax until he was in bed beside Sherlock, his back presented to the detective so there was NO way either man could see what was going on in the genital region of the other. There was a foot of space between them too and before long John relaxed as he heard Sherlock’s snores begin to fill the room. He closed his eyes.

John’s eyes snapped open. Sherlock had rolled over and pressed himself to John’s back, his arm and thigh automatically slinging over John’s smaller body, trapping him in place. Sherlock’s hips were fitted tight against John’s ass too and John could feel Sherlock’s cock pressed between his cheeks exactly the way John had wanted to fit his against Sherlock earlier. It was flaccid but still incredibly noticeable. Sherlock’s face which was now tucked against the back of John’s head, his warm breath huffing onto John’s scalp but worst of all was Sherlock’s hand which was flat against John’s belly.

John’s pajama top had already ridden up and Sherlock’s hand was resting directly on John’s skin. John’s cock hardened the rest of the way and he frantically began mentally reciting gruesome medical facts to himself. It didn’t help because it just reminded him of how interested Sherlock would be in any of those details. John shut his eyes and thought of Mary. That killed the mood instantly and John was a bit surprised but also relieved. Sherlock wasn’t going anywhere and John needed to sleep. Gratefully John relaxed back into his flatmate and allowed himself to drift off.


	3. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is a doctor, an excellent one but he can't seem to prevent his best friend from falling ill over and over again.

The morning was beautiful as far as John was concerned. He’d woken up with Sherlock still clinging to his back, both of them spooned together innocently, their embrace nothing more than pure affection. He was glad for the strict mornings of his army days that had trained him to wake up so alert. John managed to wake a few moments before Sherlock and even with last night’s awkwardness the doctor felt only anticipation as Sherlock slowly rose to consciousness. For a few precious moments John could just lay there and revel in their closeness, soak it in to sustain him for the rest of the day.

Sherlock’s toes wiggled. His fingers flexed. His breathing came in little broken huffs and then John’s eyes flew wide open as Sherlock nuzzled against his neck, his plush lips grazing over John’s skin and electrifying it. John kept his eyes closed and he held his breath as that micro-second of intimacy undid him. Sherlock’s whole long body expanded in a huge pre-waking stretch then gently returned to its starting position. John felt a twang of regret when Sherlock finally woke all the way but simply yawned and rolled away to get up, “Good morning John.” said the detective as he padded away to the bathroom.

“I’ll get tea going.” John had a morning routine and tea was most definitely part of it. Sherlock would drink as much tea as John would give him but in the morning he seldom took more than toast. John heard the shower start and regretted not cutting in so he could use the bathroom first. Oh well, he was a big boy and he could survive. John made tea and laid out some things to make breakfast with after he had a wash. He heard the shower end and as soon as Sherlock’s bedroom door shut he dashed into the bathroom to take his turn.

The shower was heavenly as was brushing his teeth. John liked to start his day clean and fresh. When he went upstairs to change he could smell the most delicious smell. Backtracking in just his robe John went to the kitchen and saw Sherlock cooking breakfast. John couldn’t help but smile at the precision Sherlock used to prepare food with. He could have been preparing for one of his carefully notated experiments as he cubed up potatoes and chopped up fresh herbs. The sun was streaming through the window and Sherlock’s damp curls picked up the light and gleamed. 

John’s heart felt so warm and filled with simple happiness that his friend was making breakfast for him even though he wasn’t well. People always said Sherlock was cold and unfeeling but he really wasn’t. John was witnessing one of the sweetest sights he’d ever seen as Sherlock carefully put together breakfast using only the best parts of the ingredients and only choosing things he knew John liked. 

Sherlock finally noticed him, “Ah good. The kettle boiled and I’m dying for tea.” John had to grin. Sherlock insisted his tea tasted better than anyone’s even though it was just the PG Tips and came in perforated bags. John didn’t do anything special when he made tea. He just stuck the bag in hot water, waited till it was the right color and added cream and sugar to order. Anyone could do it. Sherlock disagreed and would rather go without than drink someone else’s tea. John made tea.

Sherlock cooked bacon and made a complicated hash with the potatoes but when it came to doing the eggs he handed it over to John, “I’d like mine over easy please. I can’t flip them right and you always make them perfectly.” John fried the eggs to order and soon they were both sitting down to a very generous breakfast including toast and jam. “I’ve been doing some thinking about food and have decided that breakfast really is the most important meal of the day. We rarely have cases first thing in the morning so it won’t slow me down, once I’ve eaten I can plausibly make it all the way till the next breakfast before I am required to eat again, it includes toast, which I like but still leaves a lot of time until dinner where maybe I’ll be hungry again. I do like dinner.”

Sherlock sat there and just commenced eating his breakfast with the same precise movements he’d cooked it with while John smiled at him. In his own round-about way Sherlock was conceding to TWO meals a day, of course, the second meal always being ‘in potentia’ but still. It wasn’t a promise exactly but John understood regardless and he felt strangely warm inside that Sherlock was tacitly telling John he was interested in taking better care of himself.

John washed up before getting dressed. He was thinking about how to keep Sherlock occupied since they didn’t have a case on. Maybe a visit to Molly would be wise. There were some things decomposing in the fridge that John was fairly sure Sherlock had forgotten about. John had a special opaque bin he used to carry such things back and forth with just in case he needed to take the Tube. People got agitated when someone tried to ride the train with them while carrying a bag of ears. Discretion was only prudent. He was just retrieving the bin when he heard a knock at the door. Setting the bin down John went to answer it. It was Mary and there was a tall brunette woman standing behind her.

 

* * *

 

Right after breakfast Mary had shown up and she brought a friend with her, Janine. She was tall, warm toned and very relaxed, smiling in a friendly fashion as she was hastily introduced to both John and Sherlock who were not really ready for company. Sherlock scowled at Mary who dragged John into the kitchen for a quick private word. Janine stood there awkwardly so Sherlock deduced her. “Your father immigrated to England from Pakistan where he met your mother who had moved to London from Ireland. You’re single, work as a PA for a multi-media firm and you met Mary at a female empowerment seminar. Boring. Please, feel free to sit and be silent.”

Janine gave Sherlock a warm and laugh filled smile, “Oi, Mary was right about you! No wonder she’s got her knickers in a bunch. Well Sherlock, pleased to meet you. I’m Janine Brook.” Sherlock was ignoring her now, trying to hear what Mary was talking to John about. Sherlock couldn’t make it out because the voices coming from the kitchen were too low and there were far too many pauses between words and then gentle laughter from Mary. Janine sounded curious when she asked, “Hey Sherlock? Does your hand do that a lot?”

Sherlock looked at his right hand. It was cramping, the muscles both painfully distended and knotting as his body seemed to be taken over in a full body wave of pure agony. It was like his body was ripping itself apart and Sherlock distantly thought that he was grateful that he’d already broken the coffee table and they hadn’t replaced it yet because he collapsed to the carpet, unable to remain standing. Sherlock heard Janine’s panicked cries and then he could smell Mary’s detestable perfume and then John’s good descent aftershave. This was when the pain became a bit much and Sherlock decided that blacking out would be perfectly acceptable so he did.

Sherlock was getting used to waking up in hospital. It didn’t alarm him. Seeing Janine’s face and NOT John’s, that alarmed him. Sherlock had become accustomed to seeing John’s face whenever he woke and it was a sight he looked forward to. Janine was very pretty but she was not John. Janine turned her head, “John, he’s awake.”

John was right outside the door holding a chart and talking to a doctor Sherlock didn’t recognize. Mary was in uniform and standing behind the other doctor, clearly she was at work. Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest? Since when did Mary work here? Sherlock looked at Janine who was smiling at him in a friendly way, “Why are you here?”

“You’re welcome Sherlock. I was more than happy to spend my ONLY day off sitting at the hospital for a bloke I’ve never met before. Listen you twat, John needed to go to the pharmacy for you and he wouldn’t leave you alone in the room. Mary is working now so that left me to sit here and listen to the snot bubble out of your nose.” Sherlock saw that John was also holding a small white bag with the pharmacy logo on the outside. He was beginning to lose track of all his prescriptions. Grabbing a tissue Sherlock blew his nose while Janine smiled at him, her expression just fondly tolerant. Sherlock scowled. He liked her. Dammit! He didn’t want to like Mary’s friends.

“What happened?” Janine shrugged. Much like John Janine was eloquent with her expressions and body language. John said so much with a simple look and so did Janine. She had no idea what happened but it had been serious enough to land Sherlock in hospital, “Well how long have I been here?”

“Not counting the flailing on the floor, the ambulance ride and whatnot you’ve been out for two hours now.” her Irish accept was soft. Sherlock had always liked the sound of that accent, it was lilting.

“I did not flail.” insisted Sherlock but Janine just looked amused. Her hair fell in dark shining waves around her shoulders and her brown eyes were filled with mirth and intelligence. She was clearly a highly astute person, and again like John, Janine seemed to be a straight-shooter. Sherlock liked her even more and it was making him testy.

“You did. Your arms are really long. It was like watching an octopus get accidentally electrocuted. Or one of those balloon people they use to advertise with.” Janine smiled sweetly at Sherlock who rolled his eyes, making her laugh. It was a charming sound. John walked in and Sherlock smiled in relief. “Right, I’m off then. John, I’ll see you and Mary later tonight, yeah?”

Janine began to leave but John stood there with a confused expression, “Janine? Janine? I didn’t make plans with Mary for later!”

Janine gave him a curious look, “That’s why we came over this morning. You’re going out tonight. I’m supposed to sit with Sherlock while you go on a date.” John stood there and suddenly the room was ice cold. “She didn’t tell you?”

John’s voice was colder than the room, “No she didn’t. She didn’t tell me and she sure as hell didn’t ask me that! Explain to me Janine, does Mary always just tell people what they’re doing?” Janine shrugged in a way that seemed to mean OH FUCK YES. “Did Mary tell you that Sherlock would appreciate being forced to spend an evening with someone he didn’t know?”

“She just said he was a genius and that as long as I treated him like he was five I’d be fine. I owe her a favor so I said I’d help her today. Hey Sherl, you wouldn’t mind sitting an evening in with me would you?” Well Sherlock didn’t exactly object to Janine personally but he did object intensely to Mary presuming to take John away from Sherlock.

John almost shouted, “It’s NOT happening. I am NOT going out with Mary tonight. I am staying with Sherlock and that’s all there is to it.”

Janine just shrugged again, “Okay John, I don’t care either way. Just so you know, we’re showing up at 7 so be ready.” Janine gave Sherlock a cheeky wink which made him smile because he really did like her for some reason but John’s expression was thunderous.

“John? What happened?” Sherlock’s voice was soft and pleading now. He really needed to know what happened that morning. They could sort out this whole Mary business after. John’s face became warm and soft again.

“You had some kind of fit. Your muscles seized up. I’m very worried Sherlock. You’ve been having unexplained medical issues for weeks now. I don’t know what Mary is thinking but I am not leaving you alone with Janine just so Mary can strong-arm me into dating her.” Sherlock felt guilty at the conflict on John’s face. John clearly wanted to be with Mary and Sherlock was being selfish AGAIN. 

Making the supreme sacrifice because John was his entire world Sherlock said, “If Janine and I go with you it could be a double date. Mary shouldn’t mind that.” John looked entirely shocked. His mouth dropped open and he looked down at Sherlock with disbelief.

“You want to date Janine?” What? What was John talking about? John’s frown had gotten worse too and the thundercloud over his head was practically shooting lightning around the room.

“Why would I want to date Janine? I just met her. She seems very unobjectionable. You don’t want to leave me behind with her, I don’t want to be left behind with her but Mary is very insistent that a date happens and has gone through a flattering amount of trouble to make a date occur. This seems the most logical course of action.” Logical but not preferable, Sherlock wondered if Mary was likely to be exposed to some kind of near fatal disease whilst at work today. That would be better than going out on a double date with HIS John and two women.

“Sherlock, no! You are in hospital right now! Even if they let you out today and I should make them keep you, you are in no shape to be going out!” Sherlock didn’t know what to say but John continued, “I need to speak to Mary though Sherlock. I have things to sort out with her and I’ll need privacy for that. When they come by tonight I’m going to take Mary aside and have a word with her. Would you mind very much at least spending a few minutes with Janine in the front room?”

“No John.” Where would John take Mary for a ‘private’ conversation at the flat? The only places they could go were the bedrooms or the bathroom. John wouldn’t take Mary to Sherlock’s room so that meant John was taking Mary to HIS bedroom. What was he sorting out? John could have taken her to the kitchen if he was just sorting out another date so this topic must be too personal to speak of in front of company. 

Oh. Was John going to move forward with Mary somehow? People needed privacy for reasons other than sex. What if John was asking Mary to just be patient, to wait until Mycroft was back and John would be free. That made sense. She was very tolerant of John’s time with Sherlock so far, most women didn’t put up with it for long but Mary had really been persistent. John admired strength of will; it was one of the things he liked about Sherlock. Sherlock’s chest became tight again. He must have stressed his whole body when he collapsed. That fit must have taken a lot out of him too because suddenly Sherlock felt his eyes begin to burn a bit as well so he closed them, “I don’t mind.”

 

* * *

 

John had a lot to do now and no patience for Mary. He was worried about Sherlock, didn’t want to leave him for a second just in case something happened. His ailments came with lightning swiftness and they were different every time. It had taken all of them to help the tall man whose convulsions struck terror in John’s heart. This was beyond serious. John was grateful Mycroft had designated John as Sherlock’s next of kin on his records. Twenty minutes with Mycroft and some barristers at the private airfield had sorted it out. Now at least John got to stay with Sherlock as long as he wanted without a fuss being raised and was legally entitled to make medical decisions on Sherlock’s behalf. 

Sherlock’s eyes were closed and he looked pained. John placed his hand against Sherlock’s forehead; he seemed fine, if tired. He must be feeling poorly still because Sherlock looked terrible right then, almost sad and if John were looking at any other person he would have thought they were heartbroken. Suddenly John felt an almost paralysing rush of cold heat fill him. Who would Sherlock be heartbroken for? Janine? Had Janine managed to catch Sherlock’s eye somehow? She was very pretty and John still didn’t know if Sherlock was gay, straight or whatever sexual description he felt was appropriate but Sherlock did like smart people and Janine was very smart. Mary had been telling John about all her academic achievements in the kitchen. 

Oh god that was it wasn’t it! Janine had interested Sherlock who had immediately placed her in his “never-happening-because-alone-is-what-I-have” room of his Mind Palace. Now John was FORCING his flatmate to sit in a room alone with her while John broke up with Mary. Janine would never come back after that and Sherlock would be miserable forever. John couldn’t explain the savage rage that welled up in him at the thought of Sherlock with Janine. He HAD to break up with Mary, it was unbearable now. She was turning into a stalker! At the same time John was conflicted because if Sherlock had feelings for Janine how would he ever find a reason to see her? He wouldn’t even try, that’s what. John was going to be responsible for consigning Sherlock to an eternity of loneliness just because of some overly aggressive woman John wasn’t attracted to anymore.

He had to say something. Sherlock would spend all day being miserable if he didn’t say something, “Do you like Janine Sherlock?” if Sherlock said yes, John would put off breaking up with Mary for a few days, just long enough for Sherlock to get to know Janine a tiny bit better or at least, long enough to get her mobile number. After that, Sherlock would have to navigate his affair on his own steam. John wasn’t going to keep dating Mary forever.

“Yes John. She’s very blunt.” John felt a sear of despair as he heard the confirmation with his own ears. So, Sherlock was straight and he liked Janine. Okay then, John had clearly wasted his time with the sexual identity crisis he’d suffered right after he’d moved into 221 B Baker Street. John had reluctantly conceded to possibly being bisexual but only because living with Sherlock had put John through a phase that had reminded him of being a teenager. He’d needed to masturbate on a daily basis back then. Once a day was absolutely necessary or sometimes more than once a day if Sherlock was being particularly amazing. John was a soldier and making sacrifices for the good of others was something he’d trained for so if Janine was who Sherlock wanted then John would help his best friend out, no matter how much it hurt John inside.

Sherlock was scheduled to be released from hospital later that afternoon so John had sat down with Sherlock and the scheduler, making a long series of appointments to see specialists. There was something really wrong with Sherlock and John would not leave a stone unturned until he found out what it was. Sherlock wasn’t happy but then he wasn’t feeling well and John worried even more. He needed to focus on Sherlock’s health, not romantic problems. John really wanted to break up with Mary, especially when she came to see them during her lunch break.

“Hi there, how’s our big baby doing?” her eyes were twinkling but Sherlock refused to acknowledge her presence. John frowned at her but she was too busy opening her bagged lunch to notice. John recognized food from their fridge, that particular apple she was biting was only in season for a short while. John had bought two as a special treat and now one was gone, “I nabbed some snacks from you while the paramedics were putting Sherlock on the stretcher.” She had stolen food from their fridge while Sherlock was being put in an ambulance? Unbelievable! 

John didn’t say anything but he was irate. He breathed carefully and kept his mouth shut. If he said anything, things would go badly and Sherlock was ill. John couldn’t stress him anymore than he was already. Mary asked after Sherlock but hadn’t waited for an answer. She didn’t care, not really. She just wanted to eat her lunch with John but John wasn’t interested in watching her eat stolen groceries from his fridge. John was almost startled when he heard Sherlock finally say something, “Hello Lestrade.”

“I heard you’d ended up in here again! Hi John, er, hello.” Lestrade had noticed Mary who was finishing her stolen apple along with a large piece of stolen cheese. Lestrade looked at her, “Hey is that Stilton? Ha, I thought only Sherlock could afford to eat that. Guess that proves me wrong, right John?” Mary was unperturbed and didn’t bother answering; just eating the last bite of the VERY pricy cheese that Sherlock had gotten as a thank-you treat for John. He hadn’t even had any of it yet and she’d eaten the entire piece.

When she was done she smiled brightly at the Detective Inspector, “Hello! I’m John’s girlfriend, Mary.” Lestrade shot a look at John who knew he wasn’t looking very pleased, certainly not as pleased as Mary finally finished her stolen lunch and stood to leave. She came over to John and placed a possessive hand on his shoulder.

“Pleased to meet you Mary, I’m DI Lestrade. I apologize but you’ll need to excuse us; I need to speak to Sherlock and John about a case.” Mary rolled her eyes and gave a tolerant laugh.

“You shouldn’t encourage them! They’ve convinced themselves that this is serious work. You’re the professional not them, you shouldn’t let them think otherwise.” Mary patted John like he was a dog and he wanted the throw her hand off his shoulder. What had been going through his head to make him feel attracted to this person to begin with? If John were less of a gentleman he would have broken it off with Mary right then and there but she was at work and Sherlock was ill behind them and Lestrade was looking at all of them sharply.

Greg looked hard at Mary, noting her hand on John’s shoulder and the expression on John’s face. He’d worked with Sherlock for years before John had met him and John had become good friend with the DI because you couldn’t spend as much time at crime scenes and not get to know the few people who worked the homicide division. John knew most of them very well by now. Lestrade looked at her straight in the eyes, ‘Excuse me Miss but clearly you do not know Sherlock Holmes or John Watson very well at all. Sherlock is the most talented detective England has ever seen and John Watson isn’t far behind. New Scotland Yard depends on them.” 

Mary just laughed as if Lestrade had told the world’s funniest joke. All three men just stared at her as she laughed her way out of the room and went back to work. How could she have spent all this time dropping by the flat and not seen how they lived? Sherlock and John still worked cases when he was well enough. Had she ignored all of it? Sherlock’s voice was almost hollow when he said, “So Lestrade, the case?” Sherlock diverted their attention back to the topic at hand but John could not stop staring at the door, the anger in him making him feel hot and flushed.

Lestrade looked at John as if he had questions but the thundercloud still hovered so the DI wisely addressed Sherlock instead, showing him a series of pictures on his phone of a crime scene. Sherlock demanded to see the crime scene personally but Greg snapped, “You are absolutely NOT going over there Sherlock! Look at the pictures and be satisfied or I’ll help John strap you to the bed!”

John smiled as Sherlock grouched but began going over the pictures. “John what do you see?” Sherlock tipped the mobile so John had a slightly better view but it was still awkward so John just sat on the edge of the bed with Sherlock and slouched over so he could see. Their heads were close together and their shoulders met in a warm press. They discussed all the elements quickly, seriously, pointing out different details until Sherlock was satisfied they’d wrung out all the pertinent information available to him.

John and Lestrade had coffee while Sherlock thought. John smiled as Sherlock sat up in his hospital bed, folding his great long legs easily as he tented his fingers, lost in his mind, his eyes darting around and his hands occasionally making small gestures as he worked things out in his head. John loved the show and even Greg enjoyed it, both men sitting with fond smiles as Sherlock’s vast mind churned the facts over. Greg looked over at John, “Is he okay?”

“He is right now. It comes and goes without warning. Mycroft is so worried he’s gotten me to promise to stay with Sherlock around the clock to watch him.” John’s face was concerned and Lestrade knew both men well enough to understand that Sherlock’s health was now John’s primary focus.

“What does the girlfriend think of that?” asked Greg with a smile, John looked sharply at him. “Well she said she was your girlfriend, you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t ask Mary to be my girlfriend. This isn’t the place to be having this conversation anyway, right?” John was not about to discuss his continuing lack of success in the love department with Lestrade, no matter how chummy they were. John couldn’t even see what he’d liked about Mary to begin with. He accepted who he wanted now and it would never be her. John made up his mind; he was breaking up with Mary as soon as possible. Tonight was going to be painful for Sherlock but John would figure out how to work things out for him and Janine, even if that hurt John in return.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock had figured the case all out and was just opening his eyes to tell Lestrade when he heard them speak of Mary. Sherlock had to use every ounce of artifice in him to keep from shouting with joy when John explained that he hadn’t asked Mary to be his girlfriend! John sounded angry too, was he cross with Mary? It was almost too good to be true but once ignited that burning flame of hope flared up deep within Sherlock. It was immediately extinguished when his impossible mind also threw a wrench in the works. John hadn’t asked Mary but what if Mary had asked John? He hadn’t actually said she wasn’t his girlfriend just that he hadn’t asked! Perhaps that explained his mood. She’d asked and hadn’t given him time to answer or rather Sherlock had interrupted by having his fit. John wasn’t the sort to take that kind of assumption lightly. At any rate, he could have accepted. It was almost a certainty that they were dating properly. It was just a matter of time before Mary took John away from Sherlock entirely.

Sherlock interrupted their discussion without pause. Emotionlessly he laid out the crime, calmly provided Lestrade enough evidence to bring the suspect in with and handed the DI’s mobile back. John was beaming and Sherlock’s sad heart lightened when he heard that magic word, “Amazing!” Good old John. “Fantastic Sherlock, look at you, solving crimes even in your hospital bed.” 

John looked so proud that the last of Sherlock’s sadness was forgotten and he sat there glowing lightly as he basked in John’s earnest praise. Lestrade thanked Sherlock for his help and left but Sherlock hardly noticed. John was looking at him in such a fashion that Sherlock didn’t want to look away. John was almost shining, he was golden and beautiful and he made Sherlock’s heart flutter almost comically, “You did it too John, I couldn’t do it without you, you know that.” John had to know how much Sherlock appreciated him. Sherlock couldn’t let John leave him without letting John know.

“Well with any luck we’ll still be doing this until we’re both old and gray.” John winked cheekily at Sherlock who suddenly flushed at the very thought of growing old with John. How had he not thought of the intervening years between now and Sussex? There were now decades of life with John that would never happen because of Mary.

“Do you think Mary will let you continue doing The Work John?” Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from asking but John didn’t even hesitate as he gutted Sherlock entirely.

“I’d never stay with anyone who didn’t let me do The Work Sherlock. You know that.” So, Mary made fun but she was still willing to let John work with Sherlock. Well, it was better than nothing. Sherlock gave John a weak smile but because of his fit his chest was hurting again so he lay back and closed his eyes to rest them for a minute. They were burning once more as well and Sherlock wished the doctors could figure out what was wrong with him. He was so tired of feeling this way.

Another doctor came in and had a word with John. Sherlock ignored them until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. How could John’s touch seem to sear so deeply? John spoke softly, “We can go home Sherlock. Come on.” John was smiling gently as he helped Sherlock get assembled, just turning his back to let Sherlock change into his street clothes. As they were leaving another nurse came up with a message for John, “Mary wants me to come find her to say goodbye before we leave.” said John who crumpled the note up and threw it away. Sherlock didn’t know what to think now because John didn’t go to seek Mary out, instead John took Sherlock’s arm like a gentleman and led Sherlock to the street to catch a taxi directly back to Baker Street.

When they got home John made Sherlock take a shower but also made him promise to NOT lock the door just in case he blacked out or who knows what might happen to Sherlock now. Sherlock was just grateful for a chance to wash the stench of the hospital and Mary’s execrable perfume off. Were nurses even allowed to wear perfume? Maybe Sherlock would submit an anonymous complaint about it. When he was washed and shaved up Sherlock went to his room and saw that John had laid out some fresh things for him, including his favorite aubergine shirt. Happily Sherlock dressed for John.

It was late and John ordered take-away so they could have dinner before Mary and Janine forced themselves on Baker Street. John had ordered all of Sherlock’s favorites and made him all the tea he wanted and seemed to want to shamelessly spoil the detective which Sherlock did not protest for a second. He had felt so awful this morning but right now he felt perfectly marvelous. Sherlock tried to enjoy every last second he had with John before Mary took him completely. Time had never seemed so short. Sherlock’s hands trembled but he didn’t tell John. Let him have at least one night that Sherlock didn’t completely wreck. Sherlock was determined to not ruin John’s romantic talk with his girlfriend.

 

* * *

 

John cleaned up in a fury and carefully stored all of Sherlock’s experiments away, even tucking the microscope into the cupboard that held their few pots and pans. Mary was a wildcard. He wasn’t giving her an opportunity to do more harm than she’d already done to his Sherlock. She’d hurt Sherlock’s feelings far too many times already and she seemed a bit bent to be perfectly frank.

It took a few more minutes of aggressively stowing things away before John realized that he’d thought of Sherlock as his. John swallowed hard. He was alone in the kitchen so he peeked into the front room where Sherlock was just getting settled on the sofa with John’s laptop. With a fond smile John told him he was making tea and received a lovely smile of acknowledgement. John put the kettle on and closed his eyes, his hands gripping the counter next to the sink.

He knew he was very much in love with Sherlock and had been since he’d gotten a crush on him the day they’d met. John let his imagination carry him away. Sherlock was his and John was allowed to do all the things he’d wanted to do for his special someone. He’d take Sherlock to all the places that meant something to John, show his love in a thousand small ways until Sherlock knew nothing but how much John cared about him. He’d surround his Sherlock with constant affection until Sherlock’s entire world was made up of bits of love from John and he never felt lonely again. John wasn’t lying to himself anymore. 

John had felt desperate ever since they’d gotten back from the hospital. After he ended things with Mary tonight John was going to speak to Janine as soon as he could arrange it and see if she’d at least visit Sherlock one time, just to give him a chance. Until then though John showered Sherlock with all the tender and devoted care he could manage in the short time they had left with one another. It had been bittersweet but lovely until now. They’d barely have time for tea before Mary and Janine arrived and all hell broke loose. John wished Sherlock was casual about affection because John wanted to hug him and never let him go. 

There was a knock on the door and John heard Mary cooing outside. They were early and the kettle hadn’t even boiled yet. John supressed a frustrated groan; switched it off and went to get the door. Sherlock was standing next to the coats and for a long moment he just looked at John. Suddenly John was enveloped in long bony arms and had a headful of Sherlock pressed to his neck, “You are the best friend a man could ask for John.” said Sherlock, pulling back as quickly as he had swooped in. Without waiting for a reply Sherlock pulled the door open to let Mary and Janine in.

Mary looked John up and down in dismay, “You’re still wearing the same old clothes from this morning! You’re taking me to a very fine restaurant. You are going to change John!” She wasn’t asking him. John looked down at himself. He hadn’t showered or changed at all. He was still wearing his old jeans and black and white jumper from this morning. John hadn’t planned on going out and he certainly hadn’t felt like making a special effort to look good in order to dump Mary. “You didn’t ask me to go out tonight.” he said because she hadn’t.

“Don’t be like that John. I know Janine told you. Hurry up.” Mary had an expression of exasperated tolerance on her face, like she was doing John some big huge favor by allowing him to formally dress for an expensive date he was theoretically taking her on. She was un-fucking believable!

“We need to talk.” he said and abruptly took her hand and led her directly to his room. She was smiling happily and tried to twine their fingers together so John let go and made her follow him because he didn’t want her shaking her ass in his face as they climbed the stairs. John knew Sherlock would have let him use his room but John didn’t want Mary to see all the beautiful and unusual things that Sherlock collected. She could see the nearly barren interior of John’s undecorated room instead. His never-slept-in-anymore bed was there too, that’s as close to intimacy as she would ever get from John. He almost gagged when Mary pushed up against him the second the door was shut, clearly intent on claiming their first kiss and probably more. John pushed her gently back, “Mary stop.”

“John this is foolish. I had no idea you were so prim. It’s been terribly attractive but it’s getting a little old. We’ve been exclusive for weeks now and you haven’t even kissed me.” She sounded like she was giving him a warning and John actually laughed. He had gone over the last few weeks in his mind and decided to just have it all out with her.

“I haven’t kissed you because we HAVEN’T been exclusive! We went on two half-dates! You stopping by uninvited and unannounced all the time, that’s not dating. You getting a job where I work is not dating, it’s creepy stalking. You coming to Sherlock’s hospital room and using it like a lunchroom is not dating, it’s just rude! I don’t recall asking you to be my girlfriend and I certainly don’t recall you asking if I’d be your boyfriend. In case you’re planning on it, the answer is no!” John was trying to hold onto his temper.

Mary didn’t even seem to be listening to John, “With both our incomes we should be able to get a very nice flat closer to the clinic. This place is too small for you and I, Sherlock can find another flatmate easily I’m sure. He demands far too much of your time and it isn’t right. You coddle Sherlock far too much. He’s just another spoiled trust-fund baby, you letting him play scientist and detective is just childish and probably harmful. He needs a real job and to grow up. Learning how to dress in clothes that fit might be nice too.” Mary was scornful.

John seemed to be smiling and Mary looked pleased. She had no idea how incredibly angry John was now. He wasn’t smiling. He was keeping his teeth covered because he wanted to rip out her throat for speaking words like that about HIS Sherlock! “Fine Mary. We’ve been exclusive and you want to move in together even though we’ve never kissed. We’ve been exclusive for weeks and it’s been lovely. Now we’re not exclusive anymore because I am breaking up with you. Since you seem to be a little thick about things let me spell it out. Mary Morstan, I John Watson do not want to see you anymore. We are not moving anywhere together or combining anything together. We are not friends. We are not even associates. I formally quit working at the clinic earlier today. Feel free to delete my mobile number any moment now. It’s been nice knowing you Mary. Goodbye.”

Mary paled. Her mouth dropped open and she was clearly entirely shocked and surprised. “Why? Things were going beautifully between us! We could have owned our own place in a few years! I’ve been looking into good neighborhoods!” 

John frowned at her, “You’re kidding me right? You don’t find making plans like that without discussing it with the other person a bit strange?”

Mary just shook her head, “Men are always disorganized, they never think ahead. They need a firm hand and a plan to follow.”

There it was again, that strange attitude. John had never been more certain that he was making the right choice. “I’m not a dog to be trained Mary. I’m a person. I prefer to discuss choices and not have them made for me. Whatever this was between us is over. It just is.”

“Is it someone else? Oh….oh my god….oh god! Those rumors are TRUE! You and that perverted freak downstairs are TOGETHER!” John wanted to snap her neck when Mary called Sherlock a freak. He was so glad they were all the way upstairs where his sweet madman couldn’t hear her bile.

“Sherlock and I are not together. He’s my best friend, my very ILL best friend in case you’ve forgotten.” Mary snorted inelegantly. John found it distasteful.

“He’s a lunatic that should be locked away for the safety of the general public. It’s rather convenient how he’s managed to get so sick whenever you’ve gone out. Did you notice THAT John? He’s insane. He’s got you twisted around his crazy little fingers and you LET him!” That was it. She had gone too far.

“Leave my home right this instant Mary, right this instant. Don’t ever come back. You are not welcome here. Never speak to me again. Leave! Now!” John was so angry. She needed to go, soon. Mary shoved her way past John and ran down the stairs. John covered his face for a second, just trying to collect himself when he heard Sherlock’s distressed cry of negation.

John ran down the stairs so fast he nearly flew. Janine was holding Mary back and had wrenched Sherlock’s violin out of the blond woman’s enraged hands. “Mary, that’s a Stradivarius! Are you crazy?” Mary just screeched. She had Sherlock’s bow and vindictively she snapped it in two across her knee, throwing the pieces to the floor before storming out of the flat. Janine looked horrified and knelt to gather up the broken halves, cradling the violin protectively against her body. John was so shocked but Sherlock was nearly reeling so John helped his friend sit on the sofa. Janine’s voice was soft and distressed, “Oh, Sherlock! Oh sweetie it’ll be okay!”

Janine handed Sherlock back his violin and looked sadly at John. Sherlock held his violin close, “I owe you much Janine. This instrument is irreplaceable. I’ve had it longer than anything else I own and it’s the only gift my late grandfather ever gave me.” John was shaken. He hadn’t known that about Sherlock’s precious violin but here Sherlock was, offering up this sacred bit of information to a woman he barely knew.

“If I’d known Mary was such a nutter I never would have helped her try to date John Sherlock. We’re not even friends. She just helped me out a couple of times when I needed it so I owed her. I am very sorry for my part in all this.” To John’s UTTER horror Janine bent down to kiss Sherlock’s cheek and Sherlock raised his face to receive it easily. She held up the broken bow, “I’m going to hang onto this alright? Call me later, okay?” Sherlock nodded and with another sad look Janine left. John’s heart sank anew. Sherlock had already gotten Janine’s number. He was already losing Sherlock and the pain was almost indescribable.

Sherlock turned hurt eyes up to John, still holding his violin protectively in his arms, “What happened John? Why did Mary try to break my violin? I haven’t done anything to her and you know how unusual that is!”

John had to smile at the utter confusion in his Sherlock’s voice. For once Sherlock had actually not done anything horrific to the woman John was dating, even one he didn’t know he was exclusive with. John answered truthfully, “Mary was getting back at me by hurting you the quickest way she could. I broke up with her. She’s awful.”

John watched in amazement as Sherlock’s face trotted out every single emotion he had before settling on tremulous hope. “You broke up with Mary?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t bear to be around her. Why would I want to spend time with a person who can’t support The Work? It doesn’t matter anyway; it’s over and done with. I’m sorry for how much you’ve been bothered by Mary, I’ll get you a new bow, I swear.” John put his hand on Sherlock’s forearm and was very gratified when Sherlock just leaned over and put his head on John’s shoulder. 

Of course his poor friend would be very upset right now. Sherlock still wasn’t well and that wretched woman had almost destroyed the violin! John loved it nearly as much as he loved The Work. Sherlock had soothed John to sleep on countless rough nights by playing it. He took it from Sherlock and tenderly set it on the cushions of his chair. John let his arm circle Sherlock’s shoulder and pulled him tight. “I may have made things a bit rough for you and Janine though. I’m sorry for that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about John. I have no interest in having anything smooth with Janine Brook, though she is a very interesting conversationalist.” John’s heart began to thump harder. Sherlock wasn’t interested in Janine? Had John gotten it wrong? Hope blossomed especially when Sherlock turned his beautiful eyes up to look directly into John’s. Sherlock looked intently at John for a second so John let him see, truly see how John felt. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and John could feel the detective’s heart begin to beat as fast as his was. “John?”

“Sherlock, I’m about to do something. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop. You just have to say no.” John couldn’t stop himself, only Sherlock could stop him. He wasn’t. Emotions were too high right now, John had been worried for too long now, had been too prepared to let Sherlock slip through his fingers because John had thought it would make him happy. John bent his head and gently kissed Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually kind of like Janine.


	4. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it getting hot in here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sweet fluffiness portion of our head-movie is now over. Please continue reading to get to the sugar unless you're diabetic in which case this metaphor no longer works for you.

Janine sat there awkwardly as both of them watched John lead Mary abruptly away. Mary was practically cooing again and it made Sherlock’s stomach churn. He was brave and stuck to his resolve to NOT ruin John’s special talk even if his throat did feel like it was closing up. John said it would be just a few minutes so Sherlock just had to make it until then before he got ill. He refused to ruin this for John! John deserved to get whatever he wanted and clearly, John wanted Mary. Sherlock forced himself to turn to Janine who was smiling her soft little smile, her eyes seeming to read Sherlock. For a second Sherlock was disturbingly reminded of Mycroft of all people. “So you play the violin. Are you any good?”

“It depends on my mood.” Sherlock was a virtuoso when he was happy and an aural assassin when he was mad. His violin had wrung tears from people for all sorts of reasons and Sherlock only ever allowed himself to truly feel things while he played. He needed his violin to work his way through issues that troubled him, scratching out the notes in desperate attempts to understand! That was Sherlock’s constant burden, he needed to understand and he didn’t. There was always more data to be gathered, more facts to compare, always more and more and more.

The violin wasn’t like that. Yes Sherlock could begin to play and improvise music for as long as he wished but he didn’t. He played songs by the masters instead, each one perfect and finite; each containing the notes that held the feelings Sherlock didn’t know how to deal with so he let them fly on the air. 

John. John was the perfect audience. Sometimes when Sherlock was playing John would sit in the front-room reading. When the music caught him he’d set his book down on his knee, his fingers holding the page in place like he was about to get back to it but he wouldn’t. Instead John would close his eyes and his marvelously expressive face would play back the emotions Sherlock didn’t recognize in himself but could read off of John. John helped him understand and he didn’t even know it. It was an experience that Sherlock treasured when it happened and he mulled over every moment of it in his mind palace.

“Would you play for me sometime?” Janine looked interested in the violin and Sherlock grew curious of her request, “My uncles used to play when I was just a wee lass and I miss it. I go to concerts but it’s not the same as having someone play right in front of you.”

“I suppose if you came over one night I could play.” offered Sherlock reluctantly. He didn’t know how to navigate social interactions. John usually took care of arranging dinners with friends and associates and then reminded Sherlock a hundred times until it happened. He didn’t really want to play for Mary though but Janine was still surprisingly alright. It seemed appropriate to go get it and let her look at it. She did so very carefully and with great respect. “It’s a Strad.”

“I know!” Janine looked reverent, “This is amazing. Just amazing! I’d really love to hear you some night. Maybe you and John and I can get a pizza or something. I’m not a good cook but I’d pony up for a meal in trade for some music. Here let me give you my number. Maybe we can meet without Mary, yeah? You two don’t exactly get on.” That seemed to amuse Janine so Sherlock didn’t deny it and her request was again, very unobjectionable.

“I’ve been perfectly nice to her.” It was true! Sherlock had yet to once indulge his urge to lay into Mary. He had a thousand things he could say to her but for John he had not.

“I know. She keeps waiting. It’s making her batty. I mean, I don’t know her very well or anything but she seems a bit high-strung if you ask me.” Janine slouched back in John’s chair like she belonged there and seemed perfectly at ease just hanging around with Sherlock with whom no one was normally comfortable being with. She looked around with interest, “You two have some weird things. I bet you’ve got lots of good stories.”

“John’s the storyteller. He keeps a blog about our investigations.” Janine was interested so Sherlock set the violin down on John’s chair after she got up and they were about to go to John’s laptop to look at his blog when Mary came rushing down the stairs in an obvious fury. Sherlock just stepped aside to let her walk past him to the door when horror of horrors she grabbed his violin up and waved it dangerously about. “YOU are a FREAK!” she snarled and Sherlock was taken aback! Why was she insulting him! What was she doing with his violin! Where was John!

Janine jumped forward without hesitation and pried Mary’s fingers off the violin, getting it away from her while she shouted, “Mary that’s a Stradivarius! Are you crazy?” and Sherlock felt all the air leave his lungs as Mary snapped his bow in half even as John arrived, too late to stop her. His bow! He’d had it re-haired lovingly when needed, keeping it as well maintained as the violin.

Then Mary was gone, leaving only her devastation behind. Sherlock was still stunned by the violence of her departure. What happened? It got confusing for a minute as the shock of it all jolted him. Janine had kissed Sherlock farewell, bearing away the broken halves of his beloved bow and the imprint of her lips was warm on his cheek. No one kissed his cheek except for Mrs. Hudson and Mummy, and once, The Woman; it all felt very much the same.

Then a miracle had happened and John told Sherlock he had BROKEN UP WITH MARY! Sherlock was beside himself with joy but also quite off balance because he’d almost lost his Strad. He was very attached to his violin; it meant a great deal to Sherlock, had helped him through every rough patch he’d ever been in and later, it had also helped John. Losing it would have been almost more than Sherlock could deal with but now, now John’s mouth was on his and it was like a dream, a fantasy! 

John was kissing Sherlock and it was better than anything Sherlock could have imagined. John’s mouth was warm and sweet, his lips pressed against Sherlock’s and he could feel the magnetic pull of their very atoms draw close to one another. The tall young man could feel all the bitterness inside seem to seep away as he was filled with a clarity he’d never known before. He’d never felt so right. Sherlock never wanted it to end but suddenly John pulled back with a gasp, “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t of…”

“Don’t stop.” growled Sherlock, his voice thick and heavy with what he understood to be desire. It must be. What else would be making his limbs feel heavy and light at the same time? Suddenly it was like the smaller man was trying to consume him! Sherlock had never wanted anything so much. He wanted to be a part of John Watson, wanted their very molecules to combine until they were inseparable for all eternity. This was such a pleasure, this was so incredibly good, so beyond the pale of Sherlock’s imagining. 

This wasn’t grotesque or distasteful! It was gorgeous and addictive. There was nothing about John Watson that wasn’t fascinating. Sherlock’s brain flooded with oxytocin and prolactin, endorphins rushing until he was floating on an ecstatic sea of pleasure. This was so much better than drugs. This high was exquisite and Sherlock knew that this was merely the beginning. He groaned again and clung to John.

Sherlock had to be hallucinating, he had to be dreaming, or maybe it was the medication he was on. Still, right at this moment Sherlock had never felt so well. His whole body simply thrummed with energy and he felt like every inch of him was pulsing with life. John wasn’t kissing his mouth anymore; John was kissing Sherlock’s cheek, his temple, his brow. Each kiss stayed put, warm and tingling until Sherlock’s entire face had been sensitized and John was kissing his mouth once more. “John, my John!” gasped Sherlock at last. Please! Please let it be true!

“Yes, god yes Sherlock, yours!” This was more than he had ever dared to hope for. John nipped at Sherlock’s earlobe and Sherlock made an odd sobbing sound as his hips jerked upward. Sherlock had never been kissed before. He’d researched it of course. Sherlock knew about kissing, knew all about kissing but he had never personally experienced anything even remotely intimate with anyone ever that had stirred him a jot. Now Sherlock felt like every single nerve in his body had become attuned to John’s body. Every muscle had geared itself to respond to only one person. Sherlock would have done anything at this point but John wasn’t pushing him, he was just kissing him but it was more than enough.

John kissed Sherlock for ages. He lay on top of the detective, his small fingers wrapped around Sherlock’s narrow wrists and gave him a practical education in kissing to go with the theory he already possessed. Sherlock learned about soft kisses, hard kisses, deep kisses and kisses where their lips barely touched. Sherlock learned that his tongue was an erogenous zone all of its own and that John’s saliva was the most delicious thing Sherlock had ever encountered. Sherlock had gotten hard right off the bat and John had joined him but he had kept his caresses to just kisses.

After possibly hours their communion slowed down and they eventually sat up. Sherlock felt weak but pleasantly so. His lips felt swollen but not uncomfortable. They felt warm and they tingled. His skin was blotchy with arousal but it wasn’t uncomfortable either. Instead Sherlock felt like his entire body had been rewired and was working better than ever. He was breathing heavily but it was easy and felt wonderful to be so out of breath from kissing. John also looked aroused but concerned at the same time, “I feel wonderful John. Better than I have in ages.”

John kissed Sherlock’s forehead tenderly, “I’m glad to hear it. I want to keep you healthy and happy.” Sherlock sighed with contentment as John sat back and pulled Sherlock close to embrace him warmly. Sherlock felt almost buzzed now, high on happiness and hormones. It was delightful and made the entire world seem just lovely. “You’ve really never been with anyone have you?”

Sherlock felt embarrassed for the first time. He must seem terribly unskilled and at his age! John was accustomed to lovers who knew what they were doing, had preferences and abilities. He’d only just learned how to kiss for goodness sake! John must feel so let down. There was no point lying because Sherlock couldn’t bluff knowing how to have sex. Looking down Sherlock shook his head, “Never John.”

“Oh god!” The pure desire in those two words made Sherlock look up and into John’s eyes. They were nearly black and John couldn’t seem to stop looking at Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock suddenly realized John was aroused by his inexperience! What a revelation!

“You’ll teach me everything I hope?” he asked, his voice strangely raspy even though his throat didn’t hurt. Sherlock wanted to know absolutely everything John Watson knew about sex. Sherlock had heard many things about John’s prowess, he’d earned quite a nickname in the army so who better to initiate Sherlock into the mysteries of carnality?

“Can….can we take it slow?” Sherlock felt cold. John was hesitating! He wasn’t comfortable being with a man! Sherlock was dismayed. John stroked his cheek and let his finger trail slowly down Sherlock’s neck and over the small patch of bared skin at his chest, “I want to savor every single bit of you Sherlock. I don’t want to rush anything. I want to enjoy teaching you each and every thing I know about making love.”

Sherlock’s genitals wanted to burst into flame. He’d never been so aware of his penis! It seemed to have developed its own personality and will. It wanted inside John Watson, somehow, anyhow and it was demanding that Sherlock make it happen ASAP! “I feel like we’ve been waiting a very long time already John.”

John made a strange sound, a rumble so deep it was nearly a growl. Sherlock stopped breathing entirely and felt perfectly comfortable living without air again as long as he never forgot that sound. He couldn’t help but gasp deeply when John ran his fingertips lightly over Sherlock’s still clothed chest. Sherlock was convinced he could feel the ridges in John’s fingerprints because he was so sensitive to John’s touch. “Oh I do too Sherlock, believe me, but, you just got out of hospital AGAIN and I’m still worried about you. We can wait a couple of days for the main event. I think there’s enough to keep us occupied between now and then.”

Sherlock wanted to melt into the sofa. He recalled facts he’d read as he covered sex during his research. Some cultures worshiped it; ancient texts still existed that explained the mechanics of it but as with kissing Sherlock was all theory and no practice. He’d held onto his virginity piously all these long years and now he couldn’t wait to be rid of it. The idea of having sex with anyone was as repugnant as ever but the idea of having sex with John made Sherlock want orgasm on the spot. John kissed Sherlock’s mouth lightly, “At least let me have a shower first.”

“No! You can’t!” exclaimed Sherlock. John looked very surprised and Sherlock blushed all the way down to his toes but explained. “I want to learn you John, as you are, right now. I don’t want you to wash away everything before I get a chance to examine you properly!” Maybe it was too peculiar to want to know what your lover smelled like after a long and stressful day. All Sherlock knew was there were huge empty spots in the John wing of his Mind Palace, details he had never been able to acquire though mere observation and even with sleeping with John on a now regular basis. “I don’t have this data John and I would like it.”

“Come on then, I want to stretch out.” Oh god John was going to let him do it! John was bloody amazing! Sherlock was aflutter with excitement. It was probably asking too much to be allowed to take samples, at least tonight. He’d ask John later on when their relationship wasn’t so new. Sherlock was sure that’s what was happening. He was beginning a relationship with John, a proper one. He’d make sure to ask about that too though, just in case.

John went around and shut the flat down for the night, locking and bolting their front door firmly. When all the lights were out John took Sherlock by the hand and led him to their bedroom. John let Sherlock undress him, all the lights in the room turned on. Sherlock’s fingers were trembling with excitement as he pulled John’s pants down slowly; drinking in everything he had not seen before. Unable to stand Sherlock sank to his knees, his eyes wide and unblinking.

John let Sherlock just kneel in front of him and stare. The soldier didn’t seem perturbed so Sherlock continued to take a good long look. John was even more magnificent than the statuary Sherlock had examined. John’s body was filled with life, the data just begging to be collected and categorized. There was so much to learn!

John had a more than generous amount of scarring on his body. He wasn’t ashamed of it nor did Sherlock think he should ever be. It was gorgeous, fascinating. John was also considerably more hirsute than Sherlock who barely had body hair. John’s arms and legs carried soft golden hair that gathered thickly across his small powerful chest, descending to his groin in a narrow line that broadened and grew dark as it gathered around his, at the moment, proudly erect cock.

John was a marvel of balance, perfectly proportioned nearly everywhere. John’s cock was thick and heavy, still jutting up easily and was rosy compared to John’s honeyed skin. Sherlock worried for a moment that he would be a something of a shock for the doctor, Sherlock hadn’t even undressed yet. He was still wearing his shirt and trousers. The trousers were impressively tented already but John hadn’t said a word in protest. Sherlock forgot all about his erection and his clothes as he drank in the information in front of him.

John’s hips were perfectly formed and his thighs were so strong, so powerful. Sherlock knew from personal experience that John’s size had nothing to do with his strength. This small man had lifted impossible burdens many times, even carrying Sherlock more than once when the detective had been wounded or ill. His calves were strong as well but smooth, the muscle deceptive and innocuous as were much of the surprises hidden within John Watson. Even John’s feet were beautiful, his toes perfectly formed and every curve and arch exactly as it ought to be. John was a beautiful man, possibly one of the most beautiful creatures Sherlock had ever seen.

Sherlock got John to lie on the bed and knelt beside him. John hadn’t said anything yet, he seemed content to let Sherlock do as he wished and made no protest when Sherlock leaned in close. The curly haired scientist closed his eyes to reduce the amount of extraneous information he gathered as he took a deep careful breath. John smelled so good. There were hints of musk and salt, something almost sweet and smooth that beckoned to Sherlock. Something primal in Sherlock became unfettered as his lover’s scent imprinted on his mind. He could feel an odd heat curling deep in his abdomen and it became absolutely necessary to know John from head to toe. Sherlock began to slowly move his nose a hairsbreadth away from John’s skin carefully.

Sherlock noted all the small changes in the intensity of John’s personal odor. John’s navel was enticing, as was the smooth patch of skin near his hipbone. Beneath his arms was almost addictive and Sherlock made a mental note to ask John to not use deodorant one day, for science. The crook of John’s neck was nearly impossible to leave and when Sherlock meandered his way back down John’s gasping body he discovered that the tangled thatch between John’s legs held the most eloquent scents of all.

Sherlock gave himself over to the indulgence of his senses as he nudged and tasted, rubbed and burrowed. For Sherlock there was no good or bad in John’s body. It didn’t even occur to him that there might be such things as comfort zones or no go areas. He had realized that there merely were an ever shifting set of factors that made up each and every person, their slight differences making each individual unique and now Sherlock was beginning to learn everything that made John Watson who he was.

Sherlock discovered that his tongue was an excellent tool for gathering information. By employing it Sherlock learned the texture of John’s testicles as he took in the salty musk of him, before he lifted his head and tasted the clear droplets of precum that gathered on the head of John’s cock and began to spill. Sherlock really enjoyed John’s pubic hair which was thick and springy, almost brown instead of the sandy blond of John’s head.

Sherlock lipped at John’s thick shaft. It was hot and velvety. Sherlock enjoyed the way his lips felt as they slid over the throbbing heat of John. He was aware that John was making increasingly loud sounds of delight and that triggered something in Sherlock. His ears filled with John’s noises and he wanted more. Closing his eyes once more Sherlock tasted John’s cock once again, allowing it to pass his lips so Sherlock could see what it felt like to have it drawn deeply into his mouth. It was heavy and so hard. His jaw strained wide open as it pressed down on his tongue, dragged against the roof of his mouth until it bumped to the back of Sherlock’s generous mouth.

As Sherlock lowered his head he felt a powerful surge of emotion fill him. John was so incredibly trusting that he was allowing Sherlock to indulge in this most intimate of acts and Sherlock hadn’t even asked him! Sherlock felt his own cock jerk, felt the damp patch that was now spreading across the front of his pants and he couldn’t help but moan as a sharp wave of pleasure rippled through him, locking him into place as his nervous system went offline. John gasped his name out and fingers were tugging at Sherlock’s hair but the pleasure was too acute, Sherlock couldn’t move and then he was drinking John in. His ears were filled with John’s song of ecstasy and Sherlock’s mouth was full of thick bitter seed. He swallowed once, convulsively but drew back slowly, retaining some so he could gather more data still.

 

* * *

 

This was all so much more than John had dreamed could happen. Sherlock had responded to John’s advance and now, look where they were! When Sherlock had finally let John lay back onto their bed John wasn’t sure what to expect. Sherlock was a virgin, he had no experience, John was sure of it. Every single fantasy he’d ever had now had the potential to occur as he shared every first with Sherlock. Right now though Sherlock was completely focused and John could see the world had vanished for his lover. Sherlock’s face had the same expression he wore when he was examining a crime scene or doing a particularly fiddly experiment. John couldn’t help but smile as his lover turned his powerful mind on to maximum intake and absorbed everything about John with clear enjoyment.

Sherlock had no natural boundaries. John had never been examined as thoroughly as he was by Sherlock Holmes. The man was brazenly curious about everything. Not one millimetre of John had been missed. Sherlock had spent a long time practically licking under John’s arms which felt bizarrely good and John still felt shivery from when Sherlock had huffed and nuzzled his way over John’s neck and jaw. When Sherlock crawled between John’s legs any noble ideas he’d had about controlling himself or waiting were completely lost.

Sherlock didn’t even realize how he was taking John to pieces. Each small touch, each graze of his plush lips or flick of that wicked tongue had done its part to turn John Watson into a mewling mess. He couldn’t think! Sherlock’s complete lack of awareness of the reactions he was creating was the hottest fucking thing John had ever experienced. Sherlock spent a long time running that clever tongue over John’s balls and he’d nearly come just from that. It had always been a big kink of John’s but he rarely found lovers that indulged him but here was Sherlock, doing it on his own without a word.

Oh god when Sherlock shoved his ENTIRE FACE between John’s ass cheeks he’d nearly wiggled away in embarrassment. He truly had not washed in a decent amount of time and there could be NO WAY John was bedroom-ready but Sherlock didn’t pause or comment. He continued exploring John with the same diligence he’d taken when he’d examined John’s belly-button or the crease of John’s elbow.

Sherlock didn’t seem to hear the rough exhalations he was making, a deep rumble that vibrated through John’s skin and made him feel hot and flushed. John couldn’t help but cry out when Sherlock used those sinful lips and began to tug and play with the skin along John’s cock until he got to the glans again. John cried out again when he watched and felt Sherlock open his mouth and suck John right down nearly to the root.

Suddenly Sherlock’s whole body tensed and his hips jerked the tiniest bit. Sherlock then groaned deep and rough, the vibrations now surrounding John’s cock and he could not help it. He tried to get Sherlock’s mouth off him but it was too late and John was coming, oh god he was coming and it was so good that John’s toes curled and his fists clenched. Sherlock swallowed and John could have come a second time from the sheer eroticism of the act. He could have come a third time when Sherlock pulled off slowly and actually took a minute to taste John’s come in his mouth, his eyes closed and an expression of absolute bliss on his face. John let his eyes wander down Sherlock’s still fully clothed body and noticed the damp patch on his trousers. Sherlock had come in his pants while sucking John and John could have come a fourth time.

Sherlock seemed dazed so John sat himself up weakly and helped Sherlock off the bed where he stripped him down to his skin. He was so beautiful, his body long and lovely. Sherlock was now limp and flaccid; his cock sticky with come but Sherlock had completely tuned out and just stood there. Taking his lover by the hand John walked them to the shower where John washed them both under the hot spray. After they got out John fixed the bed before making them some tea. Wrapped in only their robes both men sat on the sofa side-by-side and sipped in silence. 

John felt relaxed and lazy and it felt right to pull Sherlock close and snuggle under his long thin arm. Sherlock made a contented sound and John had to smile when he felt a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. When they were done Sherlock got up to put their cups in the kitchen sink. John followed him and let Sherlock push him up against the counter for a string of long slow deep kisses, “John?”

“Yes Sherlock?” Sherlock kissed John deeply, his long thin fingers cradling the back of John’s head. It felt adoring and tender and John couldn’t get enough of it.

“John I would like to be your boyfriend and I would like you to be mine. Would you like that too?” Sherlock sounded so sweet, so innocent that John’s heart fluttered crazily.

“I’d like that very much Sherlock. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have than you.” There couldn’t be anyone but Sherlock. Who else was going to give John nothing but perfection day in and day out?

“After we’ve dated for a while I’d like to be more. Would you like that as well?” More? Could Sherlock actually be sort-of asking John to marry him? That would be almost too good to be true but rather than risk hesitation John just answered.

“I’ll be anything you’ll let me be Sherlock, whatever you want.” John had to pull Sherlock down for a long hard kiss, “What I want is for me to be yours and for you to be mine. Would you like that Sherlock? Would you promise to be mine?”

Sherlock looked pale and teary. He bit his lush bottom lip for a second and nodded quickly. “I promise John, without reservation. I promise to be yours if you promise to be mine, for always.” John’s heart was going to pound its way right out of his chest. He stood there, silent, just waiting until Sherlock looked a bit confused, “Is something the matter John?”

“No. Nothing is the matter. In fact, I’m just waiting for something to go wrong because it seems like more things are going right for me than should be legal. I promise Sherlock. That’s the easiest promise I’ll ever have to make.” Sherlock smiled down at John who kissed the fatuous looking man tenderly. “Let’s go to bed Sherlock.”

“Time for sleep.” said the taller man agreeably. They washed up first, taking turns brushing their teeth before looking at one another and just dropping their robes to climb into bed naked together. This time Sherlock didn’t need to wait to fall asleep before he cuddled tight to John and John didn’t have to hide how he buried his face in Sherlock’s soft curls and cuddled back. Sherlock was tired and pleasantly drowsy looking as his long fingers toyed with the hair on John’s chest. John smiled with deep contentment as he watched those fingers slow and grow lax as Sherlock fell asleep listening to John’s heartbeat. John slept with a small smile on his face all through their dreaming hours.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock had never enjoyed waking up more. John had kissed Sherlock into consciousness, his sweet soft mouth fitting perfectly over Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock felt relaxed and completely rested, his mind was clear and his entire body was at ease, well, almost at ease, “John I need to pee.” Both men started giggling because they were still kissing while Sherlock spoke but he wasn’t lying. He’d woken up out of a perfectly contented sleep because his bladder was screaming at him. He needed the loo and now. John broke the kiss and gave Sherlock an encouraging little push so he got up and just made it to the bathroom on time.

He was just getting around to brushing his teeth when John knocked his way in, “I need to pee too, do you mind?”

“I had your penis in my mouth just last night; I think you can pee in front of me.” John blushed a most charming shade of red but proceeded to use the bathroom without delay. After he’d flushed Sherlock stepped back from the sink and let John wash his hands. Sherlock’s mind went over every single detail of his night with John in a glorious loop. He still felt electrified by John’s first kiss. When John was done Sherlock pressed up behind him, allowing his hands to rest on John’s broad shoulders, “Shower with me?”

John blushed again and Sherlock thought it just as charming as ever. Still John didn’t object when Sherlock divested him of his robe and tugged him into the steaming cubicle with him. It was the loveliest shower Sherlock had ever had. John took over as soon as they were in. Though Sherlock protested John washed himself quickly from head to toe but then he had pushed Sherlock up against the shower wall and washed Sherlock as well.

He’d never been so clean. John used a flannel and some body-wash like an artist as he buffed Sherlock’s every inch. When Sherlock was spotless John got him to kneel so he could wash his hair for him. It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to Sherlock. John’s fingers were tender and thorough as he gently massaged Sherlock’s scalp, carefully rinsing it clean before allowing Sherlock to stand. John looked so happy as Sherlock stood there, dripping wet and glowing a lovely shade of pink all over, “You’re beautiful.” he said and Sherlock felt his own blush turn his face crimson. John was calling him beautiful.

Sherlock felt that a compliment in return was called for but was suddenly wordless and unaccountably shy. He leaned forward instead and pressed a soft kiss to John’s mouth but that seemed to make John very happy so Sherlock was pleased. His boldness from the night previous seemed to have fled entirely and now Sherlock felt the need to cover up and compose himself. John took his hand, “Come on, I’m dying for a cuppa.” and handed Sherlock his robe. John really was perfect.

John made pancakes for breakfast. He hardly ever did it because Sherlock always was a bit too liberal with the syrup but today John seemed willing to let Sherlock practically drink the jug dry if he wanted to but instead he moderated himself and put only a small excess of the sweet treat on his stack. Sherlock felt shiny and happy, deliciously distracted and now along with the wonderful warmth of his heart was the delightful sugar rush from breakfast.

Sherlock helped John clean the flat. He even hoovered which he practically never did. John rewarded him with kisses. Once everything was in order John handed Sherlock his coat and took him out shopping for another coffee table. They couldn’t use the cardboard box forever.

John held his hand in public and Sherlock thought he would float away with happiness. John Watson was walking through the streets of London in broad daylight while holding the hand of Sherlock Holmes whom John thought beautiful. John was the beautiful one. The sunlight filled his hair with brightness as the silver hairs shone smartly. John’s smile was as warm as the day and he was walking with a chipper step. 

He was a true gentleman too. John opened doors for Sherlock as they went from store to store to browse around. He escorted Sherlock by his arm if they need to squeeze past something and he always let Sherlock go first. Sherlock found that he was blushing lightly all the time and it left him feeling quite unlike himself. John kept looking at Sherlock with eyes that seemed filled with delight and Sherlock’s blush deepened and faded over and over again.

John was fussy with their choices. He noted that they’d be looking at the coffee table every single day for years so they’d better pick a good one. Their old one had come with the flat and had been very serviceable if somewhat unsightly. Sherlock thought about what they’d need and suddenly had a thought that made him blush right down to his toes. John noticed of course, how could he not. Sherlock was beet red so John looked at him with a fascinated smile, “What were you thinking about Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock kept his voice soft because they were in the middle of a furniture store but John definitely heard him when he said, “I was thinking we need one strong enough to have sex on.” Sherlock was a bit amazed when the color left John’s eyes entirely and the grip on his hand became steely.

“I hadn’t thought of that. Good point Sherlock.” John’s voice was breathy and rough but he composed himself quickly and renewed his search, now with a goal in mind. Up until now a coffee table able to hold up an assortment of magazines, a few cups and other debris had been fine. John discarded all his previous selections and turned his attentions to heavier pieces.

They eventually found a lovely dark-stained piece that would suit 221 B Baker Street. It was low and sturdy as well as having the advantage of having an under-storage area where Sherlock had said they could quickly displace items from the top when they needed it. John agreed and it was to be delivered to Baker Street later that day. Sherlock’s mobile rang. He hardly ever got direct calls, but it was Molly, “Sherlock there’s some inspector people here demanding to see your paperwork.”

“Mycroft got that all sorted out.” said Sherlock, mystified. After he’d come back to life Mycroft had gotten his legal team to follow Sherlock around and create a proper file of permits and agreements to allow him to continue his research at 221 B so he didn’t need to smuggle human body parts anymore or fuss with obtaining chemicals for his experiments though he did have to arrange and pay for them himself.

“I know but someone reported your fridge and now they’ve come to re-examine them!” Molly sounded nervous so Sherlock handed the mobile to John who knew how to deal with things like other people’s feelings. There was only one person who would have done something like this. Mary!

John got her to repeat things and looked furious, “Don’t worry Molly, I’ll contact someone to deal with this.” John hung up and called Anthea. One minute later he hung up. “There. Let them see how far they get with her!”

Now John’s mobile rang and it was Lestrade, “John are you home? I just got a call from one of my mates in Narcotics and they’re heading to your flat! You’ve been targeted for a sweep.” John began shouting into the phone and Greg calmed him down. “Listen I called their DI and told them to go ahead but that I’ll be there too. Get your binder out John, they’re going to want to look at it.”

There were no illegal drugs in the flat but there were a lot of dubious other things but John had a three ring binder STUFFED with permits for each and every one of them. It was annoying but right now John had never been so glad to be prepared. He looked up at Sherlock, “Well, we have to get home. We’re about to be busted. Good thing we cleaned up.”

John took Sherlock’s arm again and led him to the street where Sherlock got them a taxi to bring them right back to Baker Street. He received another call from Molly, “Sherlock I’m sorry but I have to come and get all your samples until the paperwork is re-approved. It’s total nonsense but I’ll be at your flat soon. Is that alright?”

Poor Molly, for the first time Sherlock felt badly about how put out her day would be because of him. How often had he disrupted her workplace? Molly had always been a good and supportive person, she didn’t need to take the Tube, “Get a taxi, my treat. We’re heading back to the flat now.”

“Oh. Okay Sherlock. Do I need a bin?” No. John kept one in the flat. Molly rang off after promising to take a taxi. This whole day was NOT going the way Sherlock had hoped. He didn’t want crowds of strangers filling his home when he should be alone with John so they could practice kissing and maybe even have some actual sex! Didn’t these people know Sherlock had been ill? Wasn’t anyone concerned that they might be contaminating him or exposing him to who knows what? “John Molly is coming to pick up all my biological samples.”

John began a string of curses that impressed Sherlock no end. He hadn’t realized parts of the English language could even be used like that but John was very creative being a writer and all so Sherlock considered applauding when he finally stopped because they were nearly home and John hadn’t repeated himself once. “It’s Mary Sherlock! It has to be. She’s gone and reported us to anyone who can cause us grief.”

Sherlock scowled. If this turned out to be true then Mary was in for a lot of surprises. He’d been nice up until now but all was fair in love and war. Sherlock had John and she didn’t. She had declared war so it was well within Sherlock’s rights as John’s lover to protect them any way he needed to. Mary had just engaged the peevish interest of one very invested Consulting Detective. He texted Mycroft but there was no rush.

 

* * *

John saw that Mrs. Hudson was in the foyer shouting up the stairs. She smacked Sherlock’s arm with a newspaper! “They’ve poked a hole in the wall Sherlock! Why are they here? You haven’t had a raid in so long.” she was wringing her hands. John felt badly, she was a sweet lady who always baked them treats and cleaned their fridge when they were gone for too long. 

They raced upstairs and it was Bedlam! There were people everywhere and Lestrade was shouting at all of them. “For fucks sakes do you work for an insurance company or something? Handle with care you clot! Drugs bust doesn’t actually mean bust everything in the flat! Look carefully! John! Fucking Christ John where is that book?”

John had the permit binder right on the desk. He produced it and Greg, a strange DI they’d never met before and someone in head-to-toe hazmat gear looked it over. There was a large collection of jars on the kitchen table and everything in the cupboards was on the floor in stacks. The living-room wasn’t much better as all the books had been removed from the shelves. John went to their room, everything had been emptied out and heaped on the floor in huge messy piles and he was enraged! They’d taken the flat completely apart. He went back out front where Sherlock was looking at their bison head now sitting on the sofa. Removing it from the wall had ripped some of the plaster away. John wondered why they had bothered. Did they think they were hiding drugs in it somewhere?

Even the bathroom had been rifled through, John’s med kit wide open and all the medications removed. He was livid. He went upstairs to his old bedroom. They’d pried up the floorboards to find nothing. John had made Sherlock clean the flat of all his paraphernalia after he’d come back to life. There was nothing to find and John knew it.

John went downstairs. Molly had arrived and was looking uncomfortable. She stood beside Sherlock who was glum. “John, um. I guess….I should really….is it okay….”

“Go ahead Molly. It’s alright.” John let her go to the kitchen where she apologetically gathered up all the human remains that were in there and with clear regret also gathered up Sherlock’s incomplete experiments. Sherlock was blank and wordless but John refused to let him slip away so he squeezed his lover’s hand, trying to sooth him. Sherlock looked at the door. “Hello Janine. You got here just in time.”

Janine was standing in the open doorway looking around in shock. In her arms was a long slender box. She came to stand beside Sherlock and looked around in dismay, “What the buggery hell happened? Did you have a party I wasn’t invited to?”

Sherlock explained in clipped tones and John felt like pushing his way in between the two of them. Sherlock seemed very at ease with Janine who listened with outrage on her face! “What a head-case! I had no idea Sherl, really I didn’t. I….I….oh….oh my god.” Janine suddenly whispered to both of them, “Oh my god whoisthat whoisthat whoisthat!? The adorkable little thing in the badly matching skirt set!”

John looked at Janine with surprise. She’d squeezed close to Sherlock, their heads nearly together and she was cutting her eyes to the kitchen where Molly was working. “That’s Molly Hooper, she’s a pathologist who works at the morgue at St. Bart’s. She’s a friend of ours.”

John looked at Janine who flushed a bit then stood straight, fluffed her hair and straightened her shoulders, “Well, don’t stand there like an idiot you idiot Sherlock! Introduce me and make it good!” John’s jaw dropped as Sherlock just shrugged and took Janine easily to the kitchen. John trailed after them.

Sherlock introduced Janine with a florid ramble that made Janine kick him in the ankle to get him to stop. Grinning he stepped back and put his arm around John’s shoulder as Janine smiled warmly at Molly who was entirely flustered and nearly dropping everything. Deciding that Molly would do better without an audience John took Sherlock back to the front room where Lestrade was doing a creditable job yelling at everyone. “John what the hell is happening here? How’d you get in stink with everyone all at once?”

“I broke up with Mary Morstan. I think this is her.” Lestrade looked sharply at John and Sherlock who still had his arm around John’s shoulder.

“The nurse? She’s harassing you? Right then, this is NOT my division but just wait.” Lestrade called over the other DI. “Marks, this is Sherlock Holmes, John Watson’s partner. They believe all these calls have been made by a single individual, one Mary Morstan who recently got a job at St. Bart’s as a nurse.”

DI Marks was a tall dark man with a serious face. He was dressed in the same inexpensive sort of suit that Lestrade wore, something almost office-worthy but rugged enough to withstand night after night of chases and other unexpected activity. His voice was clear and focused after he listened to them for a bit, “What about property damage?”

“Well she broke Sherlock’s bow after she called him a freak.” Marks made several notes, got Mary’s last name and went to speak to Janine who nodded a lot and added information, all of which Marks noted. Molly was standing there, her face flushed and she kept looking up at Janine who winked brazenly back at her. Molly flushed and looked at her shoes, a small pleased smile on her lips.

DI Marks finished speaking with Janine and spent a few minutes making notes before calling his entire team and rounding them up, “You’ll hear back from me Greg.” Lestrade nodded as the drug search was called off and everyone departed leaving Molly, Janine, John and Sherlock standing in the middle of a disaster zone. Molly was still holding the bin of body parts. “Sherl I completely forgot.”

Janine went to the mantle where she’d stuck the box she had been carrying, “This is for you sweetie.” and handed it to Sherlock. John watched him open it and draw out a brand new bow. John knew nothing about violin bows but this one made Sherlock gasp.

“They only make a handful each year! You can’t even get a quote on the price! How?” Sherlock sounded astounded and John looked sharply at Janine. It was a pretty extravagant present from someone they didn’t really know!

“Part of the work I do is advertising. It’s pretty expensive so I made a deal to market their business for free in exchange. I made another deal with someone else who wants to break into arts and leisure so they’re marketing them for me. I got it for nothing. It’s yours.” Janine had traded favors just like Sherlock did when he needed something expensive or illegal. John decided she wasn’t so bad and Sherlock seemed to like her which said a lot. Molly did too and John didn’t even know she played that way.

Molly noticed him looking at her and silently begged him to talk to her. John took Molly to the kitchen, pretending to put the body parts back while they spoke, “You and Sherlock? Finally?” John nodded and Molly shared a relieved sigh and a huge smile. “Um…she asked me out? Do you…. no probably not….I should….maybe….should I? no….she’s well…John?”

Poor permanently discombobulated Molly, “Sherlock likes her. She seems like a bit of alright. She just about melted through the floor when she saw you so I’d say yes. What can it hurt?” Molly turned crimson and had to spend a moment with her head in the fridge as she stowed away fingers in the meat drawer.

All in all it had been a very eventful day, especially when their new coffee-table arrived and there was nowhere to put it until they’d cleaned up the front-room a bit. John casually suggested that Molly might need an escort back to work and Janine mentioned that she might be going that way ANYWAY so they might as well share a taxi. The women left, both blushing a bit and smiling at one another. All in all today hadn’t been the worst and there was still the evening to look forward to.


	5. Cause and Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary tried her best to rock their boat but had no success. It should be nothing but smooth sailing, right?

That evening was absolutely perfect as far as Sherlock Holmes was concerned. They’d eaten a simple dinner John had made, just being together. They had just finished cleaning up, preparing for a romantic evening in when John’s mobile rang. He was surprised to find Lestrade on the other end, “Are you asking if Sherlock can come out to play?” teased John because that’s exactly what Greg was doing. They had a case but Lestrade wasn’t going to offer it to Sherlock unless John deemed him healthy enough.

John and Sherlock were tearing out of 221 B Baker Street as soon as they could find their coats and shoes, both men itching to hit the streets and do what they did best. It was gruesome and Sherlock was delighted. There was blood-spatter to examine, there was an unpickable lock that had clearly failed to work, and there were anonymous bodies with strange cuts carved into their flesh. John was the one who noticed that cuts seem to correlate with those on the other bodies and when pictures were taken and compared it turned out that there was a pattern. He and Sherlock were off and running, chasing clues to lead them to the killer or killers.

It took days and it was magnificent. John stole bits of sleep at the Yard when Sherlock was there going through files or their database, squeezed onto Greg’s crappy office sofa or in a safe nook or cranny when they were on stake-outs to try and gather yet more information. Sherlock found it very comforting to be able to simply glance over and see his lover close by. John’s small catnaps were enough to keep him racing after Sherlock when needed, both men sustained on take-away sandwiches and once, delivered by Janine and Molly, two-carefully wrapped dinners from Mrs. Hudson, thoughtfully pre-cut into small pieces so they could wolf it down before chasing the next lead.

Sherlock would have thought at least one member of the Yard would notice the change in their relationship but not a single person remarked on it and part of Sherlock’s mind made a note of their lack of reaction. Not even Donovan commented and she was usually the first to leap on any opportunity for a bit of public shaming. Not that Sherlock was ashamed of John, quite the opposite! Sherlock had been hoping for some kind of chance to make some sort of gesture in public, something more than hand-holding which now that he came to think on they hadn’t actually done in front of the Yarders because they’d been working, to declare to everyone that he had finally, FINALLY managed to sort things out with John! It didn’t happen and the case was too absorbing for Sherlock to consider how he might make his desire come about.

They caught the killer eventually. He was weeping when they finally cornered him in his own apartment, trying to blame the victims as if they had encouraged him to stalk and kill them so horrifically. Of course John was the one who got hurt because they hadn’t noticed a small razor he had hidden between his fingers. The man slashed at John and cutting through his jumper like it wasn’t even there and opening the vein below John’s elbow in a deep gash. Blood spurted and Sherlock went mad.

Several things seemed to happen at once. While John clamped down on his own arm to stem the flow Sherlock knocked out the killer with a sharp blow after nearly leaping across the room to get to him. Pulling out his mobile Sherlock shouted at Lestrade to get an ambulance as soon as possible even as he pulled out a fresh handkerchief from one of the many pockets on his Belstaff. John was bleeding hard and it was a struggle to get the makeshift bandage applied properly but Sherlock didn’t falter.

Sherlock’s hands didn’t start shaking until the paramedics arrived and began to treat John. They wouldn’t allow the detective into the ambulance until John shouted at them and Sherlock wouldn’t let them close the doors until he was in and beside John. They left the crime scene behind them, Lestrade and his team completely ignored, and an unconscious murderer lying in his flat.

It was different at the hospital, John called out Sherlock’s name as he was being taken in, a nurse was taking his information and upon checking his records simply waved Sherlock in. Sherlock paced outside the curtained area where John was being treated, “Just get in here Sherlock!” said John testily and Sherlock made his way as quickly as he could to the other side of the curtain and grasped John’s uninjured arm to hold his hand tight, “Just a few stitches and a wrap-up. We’ll be out of here before Lestrade finishes processing blade-runner.”

John was so incredibly brave, so amazingly able to deal with injury. He rarely complained when he was hurt, just stoically bearing the pain on his own without a lot of fuss. Sherlock still felt trembly and he couldn’t seem to say anything. He glanced around instead, taking in the emergency staffs who were dealing with various injuries for an assortment of patients. The whole place was very familiar to Sherlock, they ended up here quite a bit and he realized he was beginning to recognize their faces but had never paid attention to their names. These people kept John alive more than once, and even now they were joking lightly with him as they sewed his arm closed and began to wrap the short cut up neatly. Sherlock read the name badge of the male doctor, “Thank you Doctor Johnson.”

“You’re welcome Sherlock. We should get you two a discount card; every tenth visit could be free!” John laughed. He always thought jokes like that were hysterical but suddenly Sherlock didn’t feel like laughing. John was hurt because of Sherlock’s work, work that he loved, but he didn’t love The Work as much as he loved John. Now he was feeling a bit dizzy because he felt like there was a huge choice he needed to make, either he chose John or he chose The Work alone. There was no real choice. Sherlock would choose John and forgo The Work to keep his lover safe. “Sandra get Sherlock a chair, he’s looking a bit shocky there.”

Sherlock was seated beside John and rested his forehead against John’s arm until he felt the dizziness pass. He’d grow accustom to not doing The Work, he was sure of it. Maybe he’d get into research instead, set up a proper lab and do that. 221 C was perpetually empty because of the mold; maybe Sherlock could rent it from Mrs. Hudson and build a small lab there. It wouldn’t be lucrative at first but Sherlock was certain that with a little thought he could make a business out of it. He had a number of interesting formulas he’d come up with over the years that were probably marketable. It wouldn’t be exciting like The Work but they’d manage, John could still practice medicine and he would be safe. It was best.

John was sitting up and Sherlock was surprised. He thought they’d have to move to a room somewhere upstairs until John recuperated but he was just pulling his jumper carefully over his new bandages and moaning about the huge cut in the sleeve, “I loved this one!” It was horrid the way so many of John’s jumpers were. This one had colorful stripes mainly in blue but there were also little things stitched in yellow thread around the neck. Sherlock wouldn’t miss this one.

“I’ll get you another one, I promise.” said Sherlock instantly. He’d get John anything he needed, anything at all to make up for this. Sherlock felt awful and took John’s arm carefully to help him to the street. John shook his arm off and twined their fingers together instead, “Better.” he said with a smile and Sherlock was amazed all over again that John seemed perfectly fine if a bit tender on one side.

“Let’s eat out. I’m hungry now.” It was very late and Sherlock didn’t think he could manage a single bite but John wanted food so off they went. John was shoveling in his dinner but Sherlock only pushed his around his plate after the first bite which he hadn’t wanted. John finished eating in short order and sat back with a contented sigh, “Right. What is it?”

“What do you mean John?” Sherlock was confused. What was John asking about?

“Sherlock something has been bothering you since I got hurt, I saw you in ER. What is it?” Sherlock loved John more than ever! He was always a surprise. Sherlock should have known that John knew him well enough to see the conflict that no one else noticed! He was bloody fantastic!

“The Work John, it hurts you. I don’t like that and I want to stop.” there. That had barely hurt at all. He could talk to Mrs. Hudson tomorrow and see about the moldy basement flat. She kept the communal washer and dryer down there, she and John sometimes spent the day in there playing cards and washing up while they visited. Sherlock could let them keep doing that; he’d make his lab extra small. Anything for John.

“No.” said John and took a sip of his tea.

“What do you mean no? I’m going to start a small business in 221 C. I’ll convert it into a research lab. Mrs. Hudson should be pleased.” Sherlock had it all worked out now. Mycroft had several contacts he could utilize. A few months should see them well on their way to becoming filthy rich. John liked money didn’t he? Most people seemed to.

John was smiling at Sherlock, biting his lip as if to keep from laughing, “Sherlock we’re not going to stop doing The Work because I got six stitches! For fuck’s sake you got twenty stitches falling over the coffee table in our flat! Shall we stop using furniture too because we might get hurt?” now John was just being unreasonable. Those weren’t the same things at all!

Sherlock had to convince him it was for the best! “John, I can’t risk you, it’s too danger….” John cut Sherlock right off.

“Danger you said, right? Way back at the beginning. ‘Could be dangerous’ and I didn’t hesitate. Of course we take risks! If doing The Work was easy everyone would be doing it and there would be world peace but it isn’t easy and there’s just us. It’s worth the risk Sherlock! I’ll keep taking those risks because what we do is important, it matters to people, it matters to me!” John was holding Sherlock’s hand tightly now and Sherlock still didn’t know how to change gears. He had to protect John!

“221 C is completely perfect for a home-laboratory, fit enough at least to develop some things and I swear I won’t get in the way on laundry day.” John couldn’t seem to stop it now and he was laughing right at Sherlock. He drew back, stung to the quick but John caught his hand and pulled him close for a hard kiss.

“You are completely mad Sherlock! If you want to set up a lab downstairs we’ll talk to Mrs. Hudson and see what she thinks but we’re not stopping our work. I quit my job for you, you tosser! You can’t leave me unemployed, not at my age!” How could Sherlock have forgotten a detail like that! He was a terrible boyfriend and they hadn’t even been dating for a week! John had given his notice at the clinic because Mary worked there. He didn’t work anywhere else at the moment though any hospital or clinic in London would snap him up. John pulled back and looked hard at Sherlock, “You’re really stuck on this aren’t you?”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say so he just got up, paid for dinner and followed John to the street to hail a taxi back to Baker Street. Their flat was bizarrely clean and tidy because they hadn’t been home for days now. John hung their coats up by the door after locking it firmly and even throwing the deadbolt. “Come on, let’s wash up.”

They cleaned themselves up, taking turns in the bathroom until both men were relieved to be rid of the accumulated whiskers and accumulated grottiness of their post-case condition. Since John was injured Sherlock let him go first and when the detective came out of the shower, pink and steaming slightly he was very surprised to find that John had gone through a bit of effort in Sherlock’s bedroom.

The sheets were clean and the pillowcases had been changed. Sherlock’s duvet was rolled back and there was a tray of items on the nightstand. Sherlock looked at John who was standing there with a small smile, “The other night you went exploring and I haven’t had a chance to return the favor. I’d like to.”

Sherlock’s knees felt weak and he was wordless once more. How did John do that? Sherlock was verbose, bold, domineering! Now here he was, docile as a lamb as a man half a foot shorter than him controlled Sherlock completely with no more than a gentle smile. John had brought his pillows from his bedroom so there was a nice pile of them for Sherlock to lay back on so he was only partially reclined, “I know you’ll want to watch.” murmured John as he leaned in for a kiss. Yes, Sherlock would definitely want to watch what John did. This was data he did not have and he wanted it.

 

* * *

 

The evening hadn’t gone the way John wanted at all! He’d only just managed to repair the damage done by the aborted drugs bust and get dinner out of the way. What the hell had Mary been thinking? John resolved to put her right out of his mind. He had plans. Sherlock had a very nice bottle of wine he was thinking of opening and then John had a lot of other ideas for the rest of the night. Sherlock was very – inspirational.

Then Lestrade had called and Sherlock had looked like a puppy begging for a treat so how could John say no? Sherlock had been so ill and now he seemed to be doing well. Without resistance John just bundled Sherlock up. Off they went and after they got there John was glad. Whoever this killer, they was needed to be found, and soon. It went on forever. John was in a haze of exhaustion by the second day. Sherlock kept going, never flagging, never ceasing, just finding more and more things to examine. Sherlock was amazing! John slept wherever he could, grateful again for his days in the military which gave him the ability to sleep anywhere he felt moderately safe. Sherlock watched him like a hawk too so John kipped whenever the opportunity presented itself, like a good soldier and waited for battle.

When it came it was fast, unexpected, and bloody. John was grateful that the razor was sharp. The cut was deep but straight and would heal cleanly. The paramedics were a bit stuffy about accommodating Sherlock but John wasn’t leaving him there in the street with the Yarders! He couldn’t even imagine the kind of trouble Sherlock could get into without him there to prevent people like Anderson from winding his detective up with his incompetence.

Sherlock didn’t deal well with John’s injury this time. In the past Sherlock was normally given to commentary about the training undertaken by the paramedics or a rambling lecture about how the ambulance had developed over time. This time Sherlock was silent and worried looking the whole while. He was so distracted John had to call him into his cubicle before he got stitched up and then he had gripped John’s hand so hard it hurt nearly as much as the stitches he received. John didn’t complain. Sherlock clearly was having some deep thoughts at the moment and even though John didn’t know what they were about he let his lover have the time and space he needed to work his way through whatever it was. Sherlock would tell him or no, same as always.

Normally after a case Sherlock could be persuaded to eat but not this time. John was starving so he had his meal as Sherlock jabbed his plate, clearly agitated but unspeaking, “Right. What is it?”

“What do you mean John?” Sherlock looked very confused. It was a strange look for him because normally Sherlock knew everything.

“Sherlock something has been bothering you since I got hurt, I saw you in ER. What is it?” His anxiety was clear. Even Johnson had noticed how shaken Sherlock had been. It was only a few stitches, nothing a bit of time and a couple of pain killers wouldn’t take care of. He’d really liked that jumper too but Sherlock had promised him a new one.

Sherlock’s expression was both proud and pained. “The Work John, it hurts you. I don’t like that and I want to stop.”

Sherlock clearly needed food. John wished he’d eaten more than one bite! Sherlock was becoming delusional, “No.” said John firmly. The detective needed sleep too. He wasn’t thinking right.

“What do you mean no? I’m going to start a small business in 221 C. I’ll convert it into a research lab. Mrs. Hudson should be pleased.” What kind of business would Sherlock of all people be setting up? John shuddered to think what kinds of things Sherlock could get up to in an unsupervised lab! Was he serious? John tried not to laugh but he couldn’t stop the fond smile the spread across his face. Was Sherlock worried about him? He must be! “Sherlock we’re not going to stop doing The Work because I got six stitches! For fuck’s sake you got twenty stitches falling over the coffee table in our flat! Shall we stop using furniture too because we might get hurt?”

Sherlock looked very put out and more concerned than ever, “John, I can’t risk you, it’s too danger….” John interrupted before Sherlock could utter another syllable. He knew Sherlock could tie himself in knots if left alone and John simply could not have that.

“Danger you said, right? Way back at the beginning. ‘Could be dangerous’ and I didn’t hesitate. Of course we take risks! If doing The Work was easy everyone would be doing it and there would be world peace but it isn’t easy and there’s just us. It’s worth the risk Sherlock! I’ll keep taking those risks because what we do is important, it matters to people, it matters to me!” he reached out and took Sherlock’s hand, gripping it tightly.

Sherlock continued like John hadn’t said a word, “221 C is completely perfect for a home-laboratory, fit enough at least to develop some things and I swear I won’t get in the way on laundry day.” John could see that Sherlock was caught in a loop. It happened every so often when he overthought something he wasn’t familiar with. Sherlock’s brain was his own worst enemy sometimes. John had to ease him back to reality.

“You are completely mad Sherlock! If you want to set up a lab downstairs we’ll talk to Mrs. Hudson and see what she thinks but we’re not stopping our work. I quit my job for you, you tosser! You can’t leave me unemployed, not at my age!” Now Sherlock looked shocked and dismayed! He was definitely in a negative feed-back loop of some kind! “You’re really stuck on this aren’t you?”

Well, John had ideas from earlier in the week that he dusted right off and decided on. He took Sherlock home where Sherlock had nearly shoved John into the bathroom alone to wash up. John had hoped Sherlock would join him but the detective was bizarrely unable to pick up a clue so John left it. Maybe a bit of privacy would be a good idea. Half an hour later John was out of the bathroom and getting things ready while Sherlock had his turn.

He made the bed. Sherlock was negligent about his bedding and John wanted everything to be perfect. After a moment’s consideration he went to his room and got his pillows, they’d be useful. John also grabbed his lube and some condoms, just in case, but set them blatantly on the nightstand so Sherlock could have no doubt as to what John’s intentions were. They were way beyond the coy stage and John knew he needed to take the next step. His arm was throbbing a bit but if he was careful there was no reason he couldn’t do this.

  
John admired Sherlock who finally emerged from the shower, glowing and beautiful, his dark curls damp against his head. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and almost disbelieving so John spoke softly, “The other night you went exploring and I haven’t had a chance to return the favor. I’d like to.”

Sherlock’s cheeks were pinker than ever but John just helped him up onto the bed, his eyes shining as he gazed down at his lover who looked questioningly at the mound of pillows, “I know you’ll want to watch.” Sherlock bite his lip and looked approving but still couldn’t seem to get any words out. That was fine with John. He wasn’t interested in Sherlock’s words right now though he was positive Sherlock would be making some very intriguing noises soon enough.

He began with a kiss. Sherlock knew nothing but he knew about kisses and so John kissed him. Already heavy lidded Sherlock kept his eyes on John as he made his way down Sherlock’s chest, pressing slow warm kisses here and there as he got to know his way around a bit better.

Sherlock’s skin was so soft. John had never felt skin like it. He’d heard of the phrase ‘as smooth as silk’ but he’d never encountered anyone who had skin that actually felt like silk. Sherlock did. John slowly allowed his hands to drift over Sherlock’s long hard body, just enjoyed the slide of their flesh as his mouth followed, tasting and teasing. Sherlock was indeed making the loveliest of sounds, nothing extravagant, just small little gasps. They were almost inaudible but John knew that Sherlock was restraining himself so each hard-won cry was a small victory for the soldier.

John had been thinking about something, something he wanted to try. It had been impossible to not stare at Sherlock while John waited for him while they worked the case. He’d spent long hours in the last few days doing nothing but drinking in Sherlock’s beauty, catching tantalizing glimpses of Sherlock’s throat, or noticing how wonderfully his ass spread a bit when he sat down, or the way his long lashes sometimes fluttered down when he was lost in thought. So many little things had caught John’s eye and there was something that John had fixated on, Sherlock’s cock.

John had felt it during their snog and had seen Sherlock aroused but dressed and then naked but no longer hard. Now John knelt beside Sherlock and leaned over to ease his pants down. The outline had already been very promising but John was not prepared to uncover the surprise that waited for him.

Sherlock was much endowed. Like the man himself his cock was long, heavier than it seemed and when John wrapped his curious fingers around it they barely made it the whole way around. Sherlock’s cock was very slightly curved toward his flat belly and he was uncut, his tip already gleaming with precum. John exhaled raggedly. This was going to be a challenge but John Watson wasn’t one to back away from something that could be difficult. He’d just have to proceed carefully.

John stroked his hand carefully up and down, becoming accustomed to the feel of another man’s genitalia in his hand. He noted that the flare of Sherlock’s glans was subtle, the corona barely extended beyond the already considerable width of him and he was grateful. This was going to be tricky but he wanted all of this. First things first.

John bent down and carefully tasted Sherlock. It wasn’t quite what John was expecting but it wasn’t horrible. It was rather nice actually, different. Before continuing John repositioned himself so he was kneeling between Sherlock’s now wide spread thighs. Taking care to keep his injured arm carefully positioned John leaned over again. “You’re so beautiful.” John’s hand worked slowly and he took Sherlock carefully into his mouth again, allowing his tongue to explore the different textures to see what Sherlock liked best.

His lover liked it soft and gentle at first, delicate mouthings that eventually grew harder as both men grew confident. John was able to take a bit more now, Sherlock bumping pleasantly against the back of John’s mouth. John used his injured arm a bit awkwardly but managed to gently explore Sherlock’s balls. A deep groan was wrung from his lips and John felt victorious but he slowed down. Releasing his lover slowly John moved up to kiss Sherlock slowly, lazily swiping his tongue over Sherlock’s lips to gain entry. Sherlock nearly purred and wound his arms around John’s neck as they began to kiss. John pulled back a bit, and pushed his hips against Sherlock’s. Their hard cocks made contact and both men groaned softly. “Again John.” whispered Sherlock and John complied, winning another soft groan from Sherlock.

John kept it simple, Sherlock needed to build a basic understanding of what he was experiencing and as much as John wanted to climb aboard and ride Sherlock until the dawn he instead made love to him in small stages. He pulled his mouth reluctantly away and kissed his way back to the now almost painfully hard erection jutting up from Sherlock’s narrow hips. John had never wanted anything so badly in his life.

John kept it slow and gentle, allowing Sherlock to climb gradually so he wasn’t overwhelmed. While he had satisfied John with a charming combination of innocence and devilish skill Sherlock was only beginning to learn how to appreciate the pleasures of the flesh. John knew what he liked when he got a blowjob and he did everything he could manage to Sherlock. John found he was enjoying the experience nearly as much as Sherlock was, each extra bit of his lover that made its way into his mouth was a victory but Sherlock wasn’t going to last much longer.

He was a wreck. Sherlock’s cheeks were stained red, no longer a delicate genteel blush but a fierce burn of arousal that painted his cheeks until he was glowing. His neck and chest were blushing too and his stomach muscles were tight and tense as his whole body began to stiffen in preparation. Sherlock was huffing out his breaths in desperate little pants, small little ‘oohs’ escaping flirtatiously to tease John’s ears. John looked up as best he could and saw Sherlock’s eyes were wide and almost vacant looking. He was nearly unblinking as he watched John suck him down again and again, his generous mouth poised in a little ‘oh’.

John felt him begin, felt Sherlock’s entire body tense and saw the fleeting panic in those jeweled eyes. John stroked his thigh and bent to the task, unafraid and Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and his whole body twisted a bit even as his hips jerked back. Sherlock’s voice was so deep, so rough as a long rumbling sigh escaped. John’s attention was torn between the thick fluid that filled his mouth, salty and bitter, and the expression on Sherlock’s face as he came. He looked almost in pain, his brows knitted together and his eyes squeezed shut. His face was red all over and his teeth were clenched. Sherlock was covered in a sheen of sweat and that delicious moan went on and on as John swallowed his lover down.

He worked his hand slowly, allowing Sherlock to ride his orgasm gently until he was limp, only his narrow chest heaving as he lay on the pillows, completely spent. John had never seen such a gorgeous sight. Sherlock was completely destroyed by his release, his skin now glowing with a full body blush. John’s erection was still aching but he had never felt so satisfied. He had done this to Sherlock and no one would ever get a chance to say that, not ever. This man was HIS!

John knew he was prone to jealousy but he’d never felt this kind of possessiveness before. As his eyes took in the now nearly unconscious form of his lover John knew he’d never be able to share Sherlock, not one little bit. All of Sherlock, every last scrap of the world’s only consulting detective belonged solely to John Watson. Before he could even think of what he was doing John took himself in hand, kneeling over Sherlock and latched his mouth to the base of Sherlock’s long graceful neck. He’d kissed and nibbled his lover’s necks in the past but that’s not what he found himself doing now. John sucked hard as his hand moved quickly and with only a few quick strokes he emptied himself over Sherlock’s hard belly, rubbing the head of his cock into his own come, spreading it around as he rocked his way through his orgasm.

John finally sagged down onto Sherlock, exhausted and nearly humming with satisfaction. Rolling his head a bit he could see the small but brilliant love-bite he’d left behind. It could be easily covered by Sherlock’s too-tight shirts and when he had his coat and scarf on no one would ever be able to catch a glimpse of it but John would know it was there. The Mark of John, his stamp of ownership. It would fade eventually as well, but the memory of it would linger and remind Sherlock that there was someone in the world who wanted him completely.

Weakly John sat back. He’d thoughtfully set aside a damp flannel in his just-in-case tray and used it to clean them up with. Sherlock was completely gone now so John just lay back, tugged the duvet up over Sherlock and allowed sleep to whisk him away, a contented smile on his lips.

 

* * *

 

When Sherlock looked at the condoms and lube a thrill of fear and anticipation shot through him. Were they going to have penetrative sex? Sherlock wasn’t sure if he was ready for that but if that’s what John wanted, Sherlock would do it, happily. Instead John had explored Sherlock from head to toe, not exactly in the same manner Sherlock had but he had still run his hands and mouth over every part of him until Sherlock could feel every inch of his skin. When Sherlock had been sensitized all over John had gone down on him and the experience was almost more than Sherlock could deal with.

John’s mouth was warm. His tongue wiggled and pressed, and the sensation was so different from fingers that Sherlock could hardly process the delicious feelings John was provoking. Sherlock suddenly wished he had caught the entire thing on video so he could rewind it for John and say, “You did a thing here, I really liked that, do that again.” or “this was too much, please don’t” but John seemed to understand what Sherlock’s body was saying and adapted to Sherlock’s needs easily, the way he always did. John had been getting bolder and stronger with his caresses but when he noticed that Sherlock was losing his erection he’d pulled back and made it all gentle again until Sherlock was gasping.

John was a genius. Here in their bed Sherlock conceded that John definitely had a Sex IQ of about a million. He was only using ONE hand but somehow it felt like more, when he used his injured arm to touch him Sherlock almost melted into the mattress with the love and admiration he felt for his soldier. John was so very giving, so unhesitating of placing his discomfort aside just so someone else could get a little bit more. John loved doing it; Sherlock knew that right down to his bones. John was a giver and doing so made John happy and Sherlock wanted John to be happy.

Oh god did Sherlock want John to be happy. If this was making John happy then Sherlock hoped John never took his mouth off of him again because this was a kind of ecstasy he’d never felt. Sherlock had perspired before while exercising or practicing one of the many different hand-to-hand combat techniques he’d learned over his life but this was so different. Sherlock felt like he’d burst into flames; explode into a cloud of steam. His face was so hot, John’s mouth was so wet, his tongue so clever. He looked perfect like this, his sandy head bobbing slowly up and down, his sweet mouth stretched wide over Sherlock’s cock and his hands! Sherlock loved John’s clever, dangerous, gun-callused hands!

The wave of voluptuousness took him by surprise. He’d been riding the crest for so long he hadn’t been expecting the break and distantly he thought that he should warn John, pull out, do something but he couldn’t. Instead he began to moan uncontrollably as he lost control of himself for just a split-second, his body wanting to curl up away from the intensity but John swallowed him down and Sherlock’s mind nearly cracked when the feel of John’s throat tightening around the head of his cock made him blank out as the spike of pleasure simply destroyed his cognitive processes.

Sherlock felt a sharp sting on his neck, he could smell John’s hair, felt his small strong body undulating against him and then the warm dampness of John’s come which he rubbed in with his cock. Sherlock liked the feel of that and made no protest, even if he’d been capable of it. He was boneless now, his brain churning with lingering patches of static as his entire being simply offlined happily. He was slipping away when he felt John wipe him down and almost entirely gone before he sensed that John was beside him. Sherlock slept.

John kept sleeping but after seven full hours Sherlock was completely ready to face the world. He kissed his lover before creeping out of the bed. Sherlock occupied himself with new experiments, filling the kitchen with strange concoctions but leaving the stove and kitchen counter completely clean. That was John’s area. He was happily making notes when John eventually staggered out of bed. Sherlock put the kettle on. He really was very thirsty.

By the time the kettle whistled John was out of the bathroom, teeth scrubbed and his face washed. “Good morning.” he said with his soft golden smile. Sherlock lit up and stood close enough to John so all the doctor needed to do was tilt his head back to accept a kiss as a greeting. “Would you make tea? I’ve been waiting.” John nodded and laughed a bit. Sherlock didn’t understand how John could deny his tea-making abilities. Sherlock had been thirsty for ages now but waited patiently for John to sleep himself out. He just hadn’t expected him to sleep for nearly nine hours though! Sherlock sipped his perfectly made cup with eagerness and satisfaction. A few minutes later scrambled eggs and toast arrived, “Thank you.”

“Well, someone woke up with manners this morning!” teased John and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Normally he just told John to make him tea and continued doing whatever he was doing until it appeared. Sherlock rarely thanked anyone for anything. Most people were being paid to do what they did; they didn’t need extra thanks on top of it! John however wasn’t being paid to be Sherlock’s friend or lover, John didn’t need to be paid to look after Sherlock, he’d said so himself. All John wanted to do was look after Sherlock and Sherlock liked that idea very much. He trusted John. John would never make Sherlock do something that was unpleasant or force him to be someone he simply wasn’t. All John wanted was to make sure Sherlock stayed healthy and happy. John was perfect.

“How is your arm?” John just yawned and shrugged. He didn’t seem bothered by it but Sherlock fetched the bottle of paracetamols anyway and made John take two. “You don’t need to suffer needlessly John.”

“It’s nothing Sherlock. A bit achy is all. I’ll have to be careful of the stitches for a few days but it’s not too bad.” Brave wonderful John. Sherlock sat his blogger down in front of his freshly maintained laptop. While John had slept Sherlock had spent a few minutes cleaning up John’s laptop and fixing a few of the bugs that troubled him. John was hopelessly incompetent with technology and didn’t know the difference between a virus and a firewall so Sherlock had set everything up so John had to do as little as possible. The doctor was pleased and that made Sherlock feel good.

John read his way through their website, noting cases that might be of interest. “Hey, this one says he knows you. Wants you to call. He IM’d his number. What! I’ve got a rival already?” Sherlock laughed at John’s joke. Who in the world could compete with John? He was too good to be true. Sherlock stood behind his lover and looked at the message.

Sherlock paled, “Delete it.”

“What? No! This looks like a good case, at least an eight. You like all that science stuff. We don’t have anything going on and he’s already agreed on the rates.” John had posted a rating system to gauge how to charge for their time. Sherlock had been indifferent about earning money doing The Work but doing it for a living was the point so over the years he and John had cobbled together a bit of a system. The more boring it was the more expensive it got. To prevent requests John had posted their rate for finding lost animals or similar into a category only oil billionaires could afford.

Sherlock bit his lip for a second and decided it would do no good to hide the facts, “I do know him. We were sort of involved at uni.” John went still. As far as John knew Sherlock had never had any kind of connection with anyone before. This would be a lot of a surprise but Sherlock hadn’t thought of Victor Trevor since they’d gone their separate ways! John was a statue in front of Sherlock and Sherlock worried. He had seen and felt the mark on his neck and understood the primitive drive that had urged John to do such a thing. John was clearly much closer to his animal nature than Sherlock was and that’s why Sherlock came clean about Victor Trevor.

“It never got physical but it did get intense. We worked on several projects together. I never felt anything for Victor Trevor the way I feel things about you, not even close but at the time I had no basis of comparison so I had thought….well at the time….I thought….we….I thought I was.....” he couldn’t say it. He hadn’t even said the words to John yet and had never thought to say them to anyone. This would look bad, very bad. Even Sherlock knew that.

“You thought you were in love.” said John flatly turning to look up at Sherlock. His face was a blank. Sherlock couldn’t get a read off of him at all.

“I had notions of love John but I never acted on them! I never said the words, never once but still…..I don’t think we should take this case.” As soon as he said it Sherlock knew he’d made a mistake. John would see this as a challenge and John NEVER backed down from a challenge. Sherlock deduced correctly.

“No. Call him now Sherlock. Set up a meeting and we’ll discuss it.” John shut his laptop off smartly and marched himself up to his bedroom, presumably to dress. Reluctantly Sherlock called the number given and was relieved to get an assistant of some kind. Sherlock set up a meeting with the man he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years and ended the call just as a fully clothed John came downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait WHAT? Sherlock had a little something going on in his past?


	6. The Beast Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has discovered Sherlock has a sort-of ex in his past and that ex wants to hire them!

Sherlock had been going over everything he could recall about Victor Trevor ever since John had insisted they meet. He’d deleted most of it as inconsequential except for the lab work and a few key conversations that were not strictly lab related. Sherlock had a mental image of Victor Trevor, recalled the statistics that made up the entity known as Victor Trevor but his memories were mere fact, there was nothing else attached to most of them. A handful of particular memories were kept aside, stark reminders that Sherlock did not care to re-experience so he did not delete them. Important data was never deleted, that’s why Sherlock kept absolutely everything about John. Everything.

Sherlock wasn’t looking forward to this and learning about Victor Trevor this way had made John very unhappy. A single glance from the doctor was all it had taken before John was amazing once again as he set aside his personal comfort and supported Sherlock instantly; soothing Sherlock’s frazzled feelings before Sherlock even needed to articulate his need. For a moment Sherlock felt queasy as he was reminded of his less graceful years, back when his emotional armor wasn’t completed sufficiently. Victor had overwhelmed the much younger Sherlock with his confidence and intelligence. As work partners they were together alone many times and Victor had always been so very interesting. At the same time he had been both flatteringly and disconcertingly invasive of Sherlock’s personal space.

They almost but didn’t quite flirt and Sherlock at the time wouldn’t have been sure what flirtation was. He’d studied it, afterward. Victor was however, incredibly tactile so it was a bit difficult to tell. The young university student was unsure most of the time, Victor’s many compliments were smoothly delivered and never overtly sexual but the near-caresses had confused Sherlock so much. Sherlock had not enjoyed the sensation of being randomly touched and after uni had cultivated a style of personal presentation that automatically encouraged people to stand back. The dramatic flare of his Belstaff, the imposing suits, the inhuman demeanor, all of it was carefully assembled until Sherlock achieved his goal and was safely alone. John was immune to it and had walked right into Sherlock’s world because he belonged there, Sherlock’s missing piece, his heart.

Sherlock sneered contemptuously as he led John into Victor’s building. As he expected everything was tastelessly overdone. It was a lot of flash but no substance, and John couldn’t seem to stop looking around. When they arrived at Victor’s office Sherlock sneered again at the trappings of wealth. Victor had always found it so important to display himself. Sherlock was an admitted show-off but he wasn’t this bad!

Victor looked exactly the same if a bit older, his body mass a bit greater but only due the increase of muscle he’d clearly gained to compensate for his fleeting youth. Sherlock almost shook his head with disdain; at least John wasn’t foolish like that. John sat there quietly in his discount bin trousers and hand-made jumper that had seen better days and was a greater man than the posturing fool in front of Sherlock. Sherlock was proud of his John for insisting that they do this. Victor couldn’t intimidate Sherlock, not anymore. There was nothing wrong with him, clearly there wasn’t, he had a lover sitting right beside him, proving without a shadow of a doubt that Sherlock was NOT a cold frigid walking corpse as once suggested by the man sitting behind his mirror polished desk.

After the introductions Victor tried to freeze John out right away, an old tactic of his. John just sat there quietly requiring no attention and not interfering. Victor’s problem was interesting though so Sherlock paid close mind to the issue, making a note to go over the papers he’d been given at his first opportunity. There had been a lot of interesting developments in the scientific community and Sherlock hadn’t kept up on the academic journals the way he used to. John sat there quietly, just looking about and not saying a word. The doctor didn’t even realize how much he was aggravating Victor by his lack of participation and Sherlock quietly reveled in it. John was just perfect. He was looking around the room at all of Victor’s self-promoting photos and though he did seem a tiny bit envious of some of the activities he still remained silent. Sherlock nearly crowed; he knew Victor would be simply ACHING for an opening to be casual about his thrill-seeking hobbies but John gave him none.

When they were ready to examine the labs in the basement Victor made the mistake of referring to John as his bodyguard. Sherlock replied without hesitation. Victor was a fool if he thought these elitist games were going to impress Sherlock or cow John! “John and I work together Victor, never forget that. John decided to take this case, not me, so if I am going, John is going. That’s how it works.”

John’s cheeks were flushed but not with embarrassment or pleasure. He wasn’t happy with Victor because of his bodyguard comment! Victor was looking at John with renewed interest and Sherlock became concerned. John was very attractive and right now he was radiating that quiet sort of menace that only he was capable of, the kind that made Sherlock want to puddle up onto the floor in pool of lust. Victor was noticing John’s reaction and even if John couldn’t see it, Victor had reassessed the soldier and had placed him in a whole new category. Sherlock felt strange inside. Suddenly he had that urge again, the one where he shielded John from view.

Victor led the way, his whole body now striding in a way that Sherlock recalled clearly, quietly competent and to a much younger Sherlock, dead sexy. It didn’t seem to have the same attractive quality that had once appealed to him so greatly. John didn’t seem impressed and Sherlock felt like laughing. He couldn’t help himself and had to hug John’s shoulders quickly and kiss him on his sweet head. John didn’t mind it when Sherlock crowded him; John was the only person in the world that Sherlock couldn’t get close enough to! He’d never wanted to touch anyone the way he wanted to touch John, anything, any small connection; even closeness was enough to settle the taller man. John was wonderful. Sherlock felt John instantly relax into his embrace and he was vibrantly happy. With John close by Sherlock was able to think clearly, focus properly and John always said something remarkable to shed light on the situation.

 

* * *

 

John woke still feeling incredibly satisfied and now, extremely well rested. The bed was cold where Sherlock had slept but John wasn’t surprised to find the detective was gone. Listening carefully he heard the sounds of Sherlock puttering in the kitchen and with a small smile John got himself out of bed to go have a bit of a wash before sharing a simple but lovely breakfast. Sherlock had done something with his computer and the wretched thing started easily for once and didn’t take forever to load. John was pleased. This was a welcome surprise!

Then the email had come up. His name was Victor Trevor. Victor. John’s brain was overheating already and he heard himself demand Sherlock make the appointment. John was burning inside with the need to show up this once-interest of Sherlock’s. John had to get away before he exploded so he forced himself to go get dressed before he said something even stupider.

Once he was in his room John bent in half, his hands resting on his knees as he breathed deeply. This was so wrong. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. Deep inside was a beast that was shrieking that Sherlock was his, completely his and anyone who dared show interest had better be careful! John had nothing to worry about. There wasn’t even a real history behind Victor and Sherlock, just some time spent in school. For goodness sake John couldn’t even remember the names of all the people he’d gotten off with in his life; he didn’t have the right to be jealous of someone Sherlock hadn’t even really dated almost two decades ago! John was being irrational! Still, the beast inside muttered and stomped around a bit before settling down, just a little.

John took one last deep breath and tried to shake it off. Sherlock had gone to one of those uppity schools where everyone nearly drowned whenever it rained because their noses were so high in the air. Mr. Trevor was probably a clothes horse just like Sherlock. John had to look his best. Opening his wardrobe he looked at his clothes in dismay. He didn’t have much and what he did own was well used, mostly out-of-date and none of it had been popular even when it had been current. Well, at least his red pants were new so he put those on, not that anyone but Sherlock would see them, and John had some ideas about that. John had what he had and there wasn’t anything to be done for it right now so he chose his most comfortable trousers and his least frayed jumper and dressed himself. His hair was short and didn’t need combing but he ran one through it anyway and told himself to just calm down.

John marched himself downstairs, conscious that his back was stiff and that he looked like he was ready to enter a parade his body was so tense. Sherlock looked a bit wan, “His PA opened a window for us today. He’s got an opening at half eleven. If we leave now we’ll get there just in time.” John nodded and got his coat and shoes on. Sherlock was eyeing him with trepidation and suddenly John was ashamed of himself. This couldn’t be easy for Sherlock; he’d been reluctant to take the case so John had NO business making him feel any worse. Sherlock had no reason to look like that, no reason at all. John felt himself relax and he pulled his lover in for a long slow snog that left Sherlock smiling foolishly and John feeling content once more. “Let’s go John.” John nodded. Ready or not it was time to meet Victor Trevor.

The taxi ride was long as they made their way to a rather posh office district. Sherlock led John to a tall building where a receptionist at the foyer called a guard to lead them to Victor’s offices personally. John looked around. Everything around him was the best money could buy and he couldn’t even guess what sort of business was done here. Sherlock was silent, probably thinking about the scant details they’d been given in the email. John hardly recalled what was of interest because he was feeling strangely again. The beast inside was muttering and John wanted to kiss Sherlock again. John wanted to stop and make his mark bigger, regretted not placing it higher where Sherlock couldn’t hide it. Sherlock was his! The beast inside howled but John silenced it. Sherlock WAS his; there was no need for displays. This was just a case, that’s all.

A knock on a dark wood door and a warm deep voice called out, granting access. Sherlock went first and John heard that voice again. It was nearly as enticing as Sherlock’s baritone rumble and John nearly growled. Sherlock was right in front of him and John couldn’t see but then his lover stepped aside and John was face to face with Victor Trevor. He barely heard Sherlock’s introduction, could barely trust himself to speak in a civil manner John wanted to crush Victor Trevor into the dust as he instead politely shook the man’s hand. It was firm and lasted exactly long enough to be perfectly polite and manly without being too much. Fucker! Even his handshake was better than John’s whose palms were sweaty!

He was gorgeous. Of course! Victor Trevor was the exact same height as Sherlock too, his auburn hair nearly brown, accenting the sea-blue of his eyes and his face! His bottom lip was full, not the same as Sherlock’s but still. Victor was both rough and polished, a bit unshaven at the moment as if he’d worked all through the night and hadn’t cleaned up yet but wearing a suit that Moriarty would have drooled over. His shoulders were broad and he was extremely fit. With dismay John could see this man was brilliant too, the intelligence in his eyes was a mirror of Sherlock’s vivid gems, filled with arcane knowledge far beyond the ken of someone ordinary like John. When they were seated John’s eyes flickered over the doctorates framed on the wall. The man was a doctor several times over. Not of medicine but of different scientific fields! John’s heart sank. If Sherlock had thought this man interesting back in uni when he was just starting out, how interesting would Sherlock find Victor Trevor now? John was feeling seriously outclassed.

After the introductions came the details of the case. It was complicated because it didn’t actually involve murder but was rather an academic threat between scholars that had resulted in an escalating series of crimes of some kind but no perpetrator to pin it on. Research had been halted while the mess was being sorted out but it was getting worse, not better. The grievances in question were buried in carefully written and reviewed papers that Sherlock was given digital copies of. Victor had casually handed Sherlock a top-of-the-line tablet containing the information and Sherlock blithely accepted it.

John sat there, completely useless. He didn’t even understand most of the language they were using to discuss the issue. John had never felt like such a pointless appendage in his life! He literally had nothing to contribute to the case except for perhaps fetching Sherlock some tea if he got thirsty again. He wouldn’t even be needed as muscle, not for this kind of crime. John didn’t even understand what kind of crime they were dealing with to be perfectly frank. John didn’t know how to feel about all of it but he was becoming increasingly convinced he’d made a terrible error by bringing Sherlock here. On the other hand Sherlock was completely interested; he had that look on his face, that focused look he only wore when a case was an eight or better.

John decided remaining silent would probably be the best way to preserve his dignity so he looked around curiously. The room was posh; no doubt about it, but to John’s mind Victor was trying too hard. It was obvious that he was well off but he seemed to feel the need to rub it in. John chided himself for becoming as snobby as Mycroft and Sherlock who were also wealthy but actually sort of classy about it. The Holmes’ brothers didn’t wave it about with the exception of their mutual need for too many expensive suits and Mycroft’s thing about cars. John sighed. Clearly Victor was completely able to play on Sherlock’s level, unlike John and his comfy but unexciting jumpers.

John began noting the things that Victor had decorated his office with. There was weird artwork on the walls and a few framed pictures of Victor doing all kinds of extreme sports. Even though the décor was a bit much John found himself feeling a twinge of envy and he didn’t like it. John was dismayed when he saw a picture of Victor swimming with the great white sharks! John had always wanted to do that! There was a picture of Victor standing beside a black car, a shit-eating grin on his face. Was that a Jaguar? John had always wanted to drive one, just once, just to see what it was like. He’d never even owned his own car, not even a junker as a youth, and had a license only because he’d needed one in the army.

Suddenly John realized that their conversation was shifting in tone, they were getting ready to do something so John returned his focus to the meeting he was taking up space at. Victor stood and looked down at John from the other side of his highly polished desk, “Well Sherlock, let’s get down to the lab and I’ll show you what I mean. I guess your bodyguard can stay here if he wants, I can get him some magazines to read while he waits.” John’s face heated and he stayed quiet. He didn’t know how to respond because he was nearly sure Victor didn’t mean to be insulting but John felt insulted. He just wasn’t sure if he should be or not because he recognized that he was incredibly fucking jealous of Sherlock and he was going to take exception to anything this man said. Being offered magazines like he was a pet to be amused didn’t thrill him either so John just sat there, unobtrusively angry.

Sherlock’s voice was reassuringly cold, “John and I work together Victor, never forget that. John decided to take this case, not me, so if I am going, John is going. That’s how it works.” Suddenly John was being scrutinized. Victor Trevor looked John over with a quick eye but John recognized that maneuver. Sherlock did it all the time but not normally to John. John was being examined minutely and Victor’s expression changed slightly to one of interest. John suddenly felt mulish because when Sherlock got that look it used to mean he was about to do something manipulative, usually something that would make John want to punch him in the face. Well John was perfectly willing to punch Victor in the face so he simply waited for the right moment. He was a patient man, as a soldier he was used to waiting.

Then John’s jaw clenched. What if Victor had designs on Sherlock? What if that had just been a very elaborate attempt to get Sherlock alone with him? What if Sherlock had a small torch still burning for his ex-whatever-he-was? He had been reluctant to speak of Victor, had never mentioned him before. Why? Then John had a horrifying notion. Sherlock had just said he wanted to build his own lab. Victor Trevor owned a large building FILLED with labs! How could John compete with that? As a seduction technique geared toward high-functioning-sociopaths who had a science fetish it was practically a sure thing. Somehow making tea and being in charge of milk-acquisition and biscuit recruitment didn’t quite weigh in at the same level.

John stifled his glower. He and Sherlock had not discussed PDA for work-related situations but right that second John was seriously tempted to rub himself all over Sherlock right in front of his rival just to show Victor Trevor how very much Sherlock was his. With restraint John simply stood and waited for them to precede him from the room. He still hadn’t said anything but as Victor led them down a long carpeted hallways Sherlock’s arm went around John’s shoulder and squeezed him tight. John had always liked it when Sherlock stayed close; it made him feel special because Sherlock wasn’t close to anyone, just John. A quick kiss was dropped onto the top of John’s head before Sherlock let go and suddenly John’s heart was light once more.

John kept a sharp eye out, noting everyone that he managed to lay eyes on and making further notes of exits and doorways. Too many times a criminal had slipped by disregarded or other times he and Sherlock had been trapped. John had learned the hard way how to watch Sherlock’s back in every kind of situation. He didn’t even notice as the way he walk shifted and changed as he slipped into the comfortable skin of Captain John H. Watson. They were on the case.

John couldn’t help but think that Victor walked oddly. It was kind of rolling but not in an appealing kind of way. John was a military man, used to the crisp confident walk of someone who knew death could meet them with every step. Was Victor trying to look sexy? Would that mean he was flirting? John wasn’t sure how gay people flirted, he’d never paid attention. Sherlock had once been attracted to this guy, but knowing Sherlock the way he did John was willing to bet that it had been more for his brains than his body. Victor Trevor looked like one of those people that spent all their spare time willingly going to the gym. John mentally shook his head to keep his mind from wandering. He wasn’t gay; it was just Sherlock so why would another man’s walk be interesting to him? It was eye-catching for sure but John was more disturbed than attracted. He kept his eyes on other things instead.

An elevator ride and a few more doors brought them to a long maze of sterile looking hallways. Victor brought Sherlock to an archive of some kind. It looked a lot like the lock-up at the Yard. There were file boxes and strange contraptions on shelves. John thought of Warehouse 13 and laughed to himself. Sherlock and Victor were breaking the alphabet. John understood many of their words but none of their context. It was frustrating and he didn’t like feeling this way. Finally Victor pulled some boxes off the shelf so he and Sherlock could begin to go through them.

John made himself comfortable on the small sofa that was against the wall. This was part of the hunt he was familiar with, the waiting. He’d done it many times with Sherlock. Of course John normally had a better handle on what was going on but for now he had Sherlock in view and enjoyed it.

Victor was kind of handsy but John said nothing because Sherlock’s body language calmed him down. Whenever Victor tried to get close Sherlock would effortlessly move away. If their hands drifted together Sherlock would also smoothly move away, never ceasing with his discussion but never allowing Victor even a small chance at closeness. John approved. Still Victor got in more than a few friendly pats on the shoulder and once a quick rub on Sherlock’s arm after Sherlock made some kind of obscure connection between disparate files. John stifled his glower more than once, keeping on a poker face that would have made even Mycroft proud.

John got thirsty after a couple of hours and he needed the loo. Victor gave him some directions and John soon located a small canteen where he used their lavish bathrooms before getting tea. He was going to have to feed Sherlock at some point today. John looked at his watch. They’d been there for half the afternoon already. When he got back John just pushed his way into Victor’s office in time to see Victor pulling his hand away from Sherlock’s hip. Sherlock’s cheeks were pink and John just breathed carefully. The beast was silent, watching, “Careful. They’re hot.” he said softly as he set the cups down. Sherlock came right over and stood right beside John, nearly pressed to his back but John didn’t relax a whit. Victor looked amused.

“John we’re leaving.” Sherlock’s voice was harsh and he set down the tablet containing the digital files he was to have reviewed. John just nodded and focused on breathing. Good. They were leaving. That was a good idea. Leaving. Right now. Away. They should probably go immediately. Turning on his heel John left everything on the table, Sherlock at his heels. Victor said nothing.

John didn’t say anything as he threaded his way flawlessly back to the main entrance. He didn’t say anything when they got into the taxi and he didn’t say anything when Sherlock paid without being asked and opened the door to their flat for John. After he had carefully hung up his coat John went to the front room and sat on his chair. Looking at their new coffee table John said in his still soft voice, “What did I miss?”

“Victor presumed to make an advance just as you returned. I’m fairly sure he planned it quite deliberately. He’s using all his best moves.” Sherlock’s voice was nearly as soft and the cold silence that had gripped John simply evaporated when he looked at his lover. Sherlock was so pale and his fingers were trembling. Sherlock was frightened! That was so wrong on so many levels that without hesitation John stood right up and embraced a shaking Sherlock who was still standing by the door, “John, please don’t be mad at me! This is a game Victor likes to play!”

“At you? Why would I be mad at you? There are a LOT of lawyers in that building, did you read any of those name plates? I almost kicked Victor’s ass right then and there for laying a finger on you! He was outrageous. Was he always that touchy? He was practically grabbing your arse when I was sitting right there!” John didn’t realize how loud he’d gotten by the end of the last sentence but Sherlock was smiling and biting his lip. John shut his eyes and took a deep breath while wrapping his arms tight around Sherlock’s thin waist. “Okay, he hit on you after I left but he waited till I nearly got back to do it. Why?” 

“I don’t know John! I have no idea what motivates Victor Trevor. He was an enigma, that’s why I was interested in him back in uni. He’s very intelligent, a genius. Not at my level of course but not so far off.” that wasn’t very comforting and John felt the icy squeeze of insecurity around his heart once again. It didn’t last for long because Sherlock couldn’t hold him tighter if he tried and he was still shaking. “John, please tell me we’re alright. In the past I would not have asked but I feel with the mistakes we’ve made with one another perhaps it’s better to just lay everything out the second it comes up. I don’t want to have to fake my death again.”

That worried thread in Sherlock’s voice cut right to John’s heart even when the comment had been disguised with a weak joke. His jealousy was causing Sherlock to feel anxious and that wasn’t right, “Of course we’re alright Sherlock. It’s just the adrenalin. Give me a bit to calm down. That was…that was a bit strong.” Sherlock didn’t let go and it was actually helping a lot to be squeezed so hard. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I am a jealous man. I did pretty good today but I should warn you, it doesn’t take much to set me off. I get angry. Adrenalin rushes. I’m very reactionary and sometimes more than a bit unreasonable. Violent if pushed and he was pushing me every time he laid a finger on you.” John’s voice was softly ashamed, almost whispering now, “You should probably know that about me.”

After a moment’s silence John risked a glance upward to see how devastated Sherlock was. Instead he witnessed Sherlock standing there with a stunned expression and an almost goofy smile on his face, “You’d hurt someone because you’re jealous of me?”

“Sherlock I killed someone for you before we were even friends. What do you think I’d be willing to do for you now?” Sherlock’s eyes went black and John was suddenly reminded of all those horror movies where the character turned out to be a demon of some kind. A sexy demon. A tall dark haired pale skinned demon who was now bending John backward just like a heroine in one of those pulp romance novels and kissing the breath right out of the doctor. When Sherlock eventually let John stand upright both men had a silly grin on their face and were still holding each other tightly.

Sherlock kissed John’s forehead gently, “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” teased John but Sherlock nodded seriously.

“Yes. I want to take you out, somewhere nice, someplace you’ll like. Would you like that?” Sherlock in love was a solicitous person! He wasn’t demanding that John go, or tricking him to get someplace. He looked sweetly hopeful as if John were likely to say no!

“I’d like that. Shall we change or something?” John didn’t really have anything nice to change into. He supposed that picking up a few new things wouldn’t be the end of the world. Sherlock was still getting him another jumper but one jumper wasn’t enough. 

“No. I like the way you look, I’d like to keep looking at you like this.” Sherlock did seem a bit star-struck and John knew his face probably had the same expression. Sherlock’s shirt was one of John’s favorites; that thin white number with the buttons that looked almost crinkled. There was something about how Sherlock wore it that had always made John’s mouth go dry. Tonight was going to be so wonderful.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was reading his way through another project report while he waited for John to return. The data was fascinating and Sherlock was excited to go through information that was not available even to the most well-tended libraries anywhere in the city. Victor’s research companies catered to a lot of different fields and poaching amongst researchers was common. John had borne the time quietly, just letting time drift the way he was able to while he waited patiently for Sherlock. John was amazing.

A deep voice murmured in his ear, body heat almost but not quite touching Sherlock’s back. “I’d forgotten how incredible you were Sherlock. Everything about you is even more incredible that I remembered.” Sherlock was unhappy to find that he’d stopped focusing on staying out of reach of Victor while he was engrossed in the file he was examining. The tablet was useful and Sherlock had uploaded a few more files onto it while he waited for John. “I’ve got a nice little place about half an hour from here, you should come by. We can catch up.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to tell Victor no when he felt the man’s hand rubbing Sherlock’s hip! Sherlock flushed at the unwelcome intrusion and was about to rip into Victor when the door opened without warning, allowing a cup bearing John to walk in while Sherlock and Victor looked the most incriminating. Sherlock’s cheeks heated even more. Curse Victor for doing this! Sherlock had forgotten what a twisted shit Victor Trevor was. He liked his little head games but why would he choose to play them with John and Sherlock while they were helping him? 

John’s voice was so soft and Sherlock’s heart nearly dropped through the floor. John was angry. Very angry. Dangerously angry even. Sherlock felt strange and didn’t feel right until he put himself directly into John’s personal space and just told John they were leaving. Sherlock even left behind the intriguing information. If John said no, they wouldn’t come back. John didn’t argue, he didn’t say anything at all. He just led Sherlock directly to the street. John wasn’t speaking and Sherlock worried. John had trust issues! Serious, almost debilitating trust issues! How had he allowed himself to fail so soon? All Sherlock had needed to do was be true to John while he was out of sight and the very first time they were separated some ass had to hit on Sherlock! Well that wasn’t Sherlock’s fault but John was incredibly upset, you didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.

Sherlock had damaged John’s trust in him many times. Sherlock felt sick inside, this felt like when he’d first come back to life and had to explain to John how he’d lied on purpose, how he’d allowed John to believe he was dead and to grieve for him. John, remarkable marvelous incredible John forgave Sherlock unconditionally and Sherlock swore he would never give John reason to mistrust him ever again. Sherlock couldn’t deal with seeing that expression more than once, that look of heart-broken betrayal that was accompanied by only the smallest of gasps. Sherlock had felt his soul shrivel in that moment. John was a saint for even choosing to be friends with Sherlock, never mind consenting to be his lover! Now….Victor had possibly ruined everything. How could Sherlock explain the compromising position they had been in? Sherlock knew his cheeks had been flushed, would John know the difference between a blush of embarrassment, and one of arousal? Not likely!

When they finally got home Sherlock’s insides were twisting and he didn’t know how John would react. The man was clearly upset, very obviously upset. Would he end their new relationship or demand to back away at least? Sherlock was going to be ill but John just asked, “What did I miss?” his wonderful face full of trust and love. He understood! He knew Sherlock had NOT encouraged this trespass and he just wanted to know what happened and waited until they were in private to ask. Marvelous John! 

Sherlock was still feeling a bit oddly but he told John everything in a rush, “Victor presumed to make an advance just as you returned. I’m fairly sure he planned it quite deliberately. He’s using all his best moves.” Sherlock spoke gently, still very worried about easy it would be to absolutely ruin this whole relationship with a misstep. John looked at Sherlock and his face seemed to warm and suddenly his soldier was holding Sherlock tight, “John, please don’t be mad at me! This is a game Victor likes to play!”

“At you? Why would I be mad at you? There are a LOT of lawyers in that building, did you read any of those name plates? I almost kicked Victor’s ass right then and there for laying a finger on you! He was outrageous. Was he always that touchy? He was practically grabbing your arse when I was sitting right there!” the doctor was quite loud at the end but he caught himself and cinched his arms comfortingly around Sherlock’s waist, his small hard body tucked tight against Sherlock. It felt grounding and John simply went over the details of Victor’s pass, “Okay, he hit on you after I left but he waited till I nearly got back to do it. Why?” 

“I don’t know John! I have no idea what motivates Victor Trevor. He was an enigma, that’s why I was interested in him back in uni. He’s very intelligent, a genius. Not at my level of course but not so far off.” John looked perturbed and Sherlock feared the worst. He couldn’t lose John over someone idiotic like Victor Trevor! Afraid John would simply shake him off and walk away Sherlock clung to his soldier with desperate strength, “John, please tell me we’re alright. In the past I would not have asked but I feel with the mistakes we’ve made with one another perhaps it’s better to just lay everything out the second it comes up. I don’t want to have to fake my death again.”

Sherlock’s heart was going to stop beating but John just looked up at him in complete surprise as if he couldn’t believe Sherlock needed to ask, “Of course we’re alright Sherlock. It’s just the adrenalin. Give me a bit to calm down. That was…that was a bit strong.” Sherlock couldn’t let go but John didn’t complain about being squeezed so tightly. Instead his lover looked chagrined before saying, “I’m sorry Sherlock, I am a jealous man. I did pretty good today but I should warn you, it doesn’t take much to set me off. I get angry. Adrenalin rushes. I’m very reactionary and sometimes more than a bit unreasonable. Violent if pushed and he was pushing me every time he laid a finger on you.” John’s voice was softly ashamed, almost whispering now, “You should probably know that about me.”

Sherlock had never been so happy! He couldn’t control the smile on his face. John was territorial over him? John was struggling to NOT hurt Victor? That’s why John hadn’t said anything, because he was jealous? This was too good to be true; so much of John Watson was too good to be true! “You’d hurt someone because you’re jealous of me?”

Then John said with quiet assurance, “Sherlock I killed someone for you before we were even friends. What do you think I’d be willing to do for you now?” Sherlock couldn’t help it; he HAD to kiss John so he did, wanted to consume him on the spot and wasn’t satisfied until John was bent over backward and nearly gasping for air. Sherlock felt the need to do something for John, something John liked. John liked to eat, and he liked to make Sherlock eat, so with a tender kiss he asked, “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” John was smiling and he looked very happy. Sherlock was warmed right down to his toes; he’d made the right move. Sherlock did love a happy John.

“Yes. I want to take you out, somewhere nice, someplace you’ll like. Would you like that?” John didn’t like to be pushed and he didn’t like to be tricked. Sherlock had learned his lesson and didn’t want to risk wearing away John’s goodwill over time. Sherlock wanted their relationship to last for as long as possible and that meant keeping John happy. Look what happened to Mary and her bossy attitude! Sherlock wasn’t going to end up like her, alone and John-less!

“I’d like that. Shall we change or something?” Absolutely not! John was wearing a jumper that Sherlock had secretly liked even though he complained about it a lot. It was oatmeal colored and clearly hand-made. Sherlock remembered when John had ruined a bit of the sleeve when he’d had to pull Sherlock up over the edge of a dock he’d been knocked off. John had rescued Sherlock first and then had gone on to catch their suspect before he could get into his fishing boat and get away. John wore that jumper a lot, he only had a few and Sherlock remembered his promise to get him another one. He’d get two as a surprise. 

“No. I like the way you look, I’d like to keep looking at you like this.” He knew he was staring at John but Sherlock couldn’t help himself. His lover was a honey-covered treat that Sherlock could not wait to indulge in but suitable steps were required because John deserved to be courted properly. Time for dinner.

While he hailed a taxi Sherlock texted a chef he had helped and got a reply a minute or two later. Everything was a go so Sherlock gave the driver the address and took John’s hand. The doctor looked calm and relaxed. John was pleased when they arrived and that made Sherlock smile. He’d made a good choice.

It was a small intimate place with cosy little booths in which patrons could watch the stage where a variety of small acts came and went. The offering was purely voluntary, with local musicians, artists, poets and so on came to perform in public for no better reason than they had something they wanted to share. The food was bar-fare but delicious and substantial; their selection of beers and wine was impressive so John enjoyed a dark ale while Sherlock sipped a glass of wine while they ate their way through seasoned crisps and gourmet burgers.

John seemed to be enjoying himself and to make his doctor content Sherlock carefully cleaned his plate. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d kept his one-meal-a-day promise to John so he wasn’t going to argue for the next few meals when John offered him food. John was worth any compromise. A text chirped on Sherlock’s mobile though and he chided himself for not shutting the wretched thing off because John would make him check and he did. It was Mycroft, “Interesting John. Mary had lodged complaints with St. Bart’s regarding possible misconduct regarding hospital visiting policies, city council regarding toxic chemical storage and possible illegal drugs, the Yard for unprofessional conduct, and she’s even given a shot at reaching your old commander to complain. She’s being charged by the hospital for harassment because you quit your job. They’ve suspended her. You told Sarah it was because of Mary, didn’t you.”

John’s jaw dropped. Sarah Sawyer was still friends with John and she was still an administrator at St. Bart’s. John would have gone to her to keep it discrete, an effort that was wasted thanks to Mary Morstan. “Sarah wanted to know why I was leaving so suddenly. She’s an old friend, I knew she’d understand. She did.”

“That’s alright John. I just wanted to confirm how she received her information and when.” Sherlock’s fingers were flying over his mobile as he answered his brother. “Mycroft is sending Anthea and someone from his office to deal with the paperwork issues. You can even request a restraining order if you want.”

John rolled his eyes and Sherlock nearly laughed. John would never do such a thing. “Well that takes care of my ex. What about yours?” They’d just left Victor Trevor standing there. Sherlock didn’t know how to proceed. The case was actually interesting. The crime was subtle and would require an almost forensic review of several rather fascinating projects. On the other hand Sherlock was risking his relationship with John by continuing the case. It wasn’t worth it he decided but before he could say anything John made a thoughtful remark, “There’s big money in these sorts of firms isn’t there? Grants and so forth? Who collects the money and doles it out for Victor’s researchers?”

That was an interesting question. Sherlock had never worked in a private facility before, always government run or school oriented labs. “Do you still want to do this case John? I have no problem walking away now.” He didn’t. Sherlock normally didn’t like leaving a mystery unsolved and there were several evocative leads to suggest motive and possible suspects but there was so much material to go through, it would take a bit of time before Sherlock could really do anything. It meant spending days and days with Victor.

John looked at Sherlock and his face grew hard. “He’s using us for something Sherlock. He wants to hide or expose something that leaves him in the clear and drops the blame on someone else. He had that look in his eye.” Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. John was amazing because it all made sense. There was indeed a lot of money to handle for a private organization like Victor’s. The longer the researchers argued over rights and infringements the longer their grants sat in the bank earning interest. There hadn’t been financial reports in the files that Sherlock had examined. If he was to get answers to John’s question they needed to go back. 

John had clearly decided to do so, “Text him. Tell him we’re coming back tomorrow afternoon to continue working. No mention of the pass. We’ll see what he’s up to.” Sherlock was almost stunned at John’s willingness to go back but texted Victor as directed. He showed John the winky face emoticon Victor sent back with his reply of a 2pm meeting time, “Hmm, the winky face. The shameless trollop of the emoticon world.”

“Are you sure that we should do this John?” John smiled over at Sherlock and took his hand.

“He’s hiding something. He’s using us. I don’t like him. What more reason do I need to dig out the skeletons in Victor’s closet? We’re going back Sherlock.” John was bloody fantastic! Suddenly Sherlock couldn’t wait to get his lover home and from the look on John’s face, the soldier agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're going home to get a good night's sleep I bet.


	7. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has finally asked John out for a romantic date and it went MAGNIFICENTLY. Now they are racing back to Baker Street and 221 B to enjoy the end of their night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the long period between updates. My life went from being well organized and productive to being crazy busy and irritating. Believe me, I'd rather be writing.

Leaving the restaurant involved a lot of heated looks, an overly indulgent tip to the server, and a hastily procured cab back to Baker Street. John couldn’t help himself and ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s long thigh the entire ride while Sherlock sat there with clenched fists and gently rocking hips. John probably paid the driver twice what he was owed but he didn’t care. All he knew was that Sherlock’s enticing behind was disappearing up the stairs and John needed to chase after it.

John pulled Sherlock in for a kiss the second the door to the flat was shut safely behind them. For good measure, because Mycroft was a cock-blocking dick, John threw the deadbolt as well and made no secret of ushering Sherlock straight to their front room. The beast hadn’t forgotten the trespass of earlier. Claims needed refreshing, stakes needed to be marked clearly. John wasn’t thinking with his rational mind at all. All he knew was that the feel of Sherlock’s skin was soft, the flavor of his lover was sweet, and that there both of them were wearing far too many clothes. “You’re mine, you know that.”

It wasn’t a question and Sherlock didn’t interpret it as such, “I am.” The beast was soothed with the instant acceptance. Sherlock further calmed John by stepping even closer to his lover, taking John’s hand in his and placing it over the hip the Victor had violated with his touch earlier. John gripped Sherlock tight for only a moment before sliding his hand possessively over the entire region, not stopping until he was cupping Sherlock’s ass in his hand and both men were kissing one another with rising heat.

The beast accepted Sherlock’s submission but it was far from appeased. John felt another fleeting flicker of shame at his lack of control as he pushed Sherlock back more and more until they made their awkward way right to the bedroom. He wasn’t an animal, he was a considerate and talented lover not some kind of savage! John kicked the door shut, never once taking his lips off of Sherlock as he claimed his mouth, breaking off to intermittently kiss Sherlock’s throat and jaw. Victor had come close to Sherlock, had touched him. That didn’t sit well with John, not at all. It became imperative to mark Sherlock. John needed to make Sherlock his, utterly his!

Getting each other undressed in the heat of passion didn’t quite play out the way it did in the movies. There was no smooth undoing of buttons, sensuous slide of material against flesh, no slow reveal of hidden places. Sherlock’s too tight shirt refused to give up the good fight after hours of clinging desperately closed. John forgot he was wearing that green shirt with the awkward cuff that was almost impossible to get open. He would have gladly just ripped the thing off but the button seemed to be sewn on with steel thread and the study durable material of the shirt defied any attempts at destruction. Mycroft should consider this material the next time his team designed tactical gear. Both men were distracted with their personal clothes battle.

Shirts finally mastered and discarded Sherlock and John renewed their flagging passions with a deep and heated kiss, their chests now bared, the heat between them flaring easily. They realized they weren’t naked enough and parted to complete the task. Sherlock still had his shoes on and had to stoop to unlace them, banging his head against John’s knee when the doctor attempted to toe off his own shoes. A muttering of “Sorry” and “Give me a minute.” could be heard as they tried to just get their damn clothes off. Finally Sherlock was throwing his patent leather shoes away and ripping his socks off before getting back up to help John out of his pants, his eagerness such that he bowled John completely over so they fell together onto the bed. Somehow or other Sherlock’s leg had jerked up at the last second and had made perfect contact.

Some things weren’t meant to be jarred quite so thoroughly and with a pained gasp John shoved Sherlock right off of him and curled up into a tiny protective ball in the centre of the mattress, his red pants still hanging off one ankle. “John?” Sherlock tentatively placed his hand on John’s shoulder, “Are you alright?”

“Give me a minute.” John’s voice was raspy and deep but not with pleasure. After kneeing him Sherlock had then accidentally crushed John’s more delicate bits with a very sharp hipbone. His erection was entire gone but the entire region still throbbed fiercely. Sherlock was heavier than he looked, his long lean body now well fed and taken care of thanks to John’s dedicated attentions. He was still very pointy in places though. Carefully John felt himself. He was tender but not damaged. He’d need an ice-pack for certain and no chance of sex tonight. “Get the blue bag.”

Sherlock hesitated for only a second and left the bedroom without a word. He came back and John managed to roll himself onto his back and applied the blue ice-pack that they kept in their small freezer. They had a red one too but that was the one they used for larger areas, being twice the size of the blue bag. Sherlock knelt on the bed and looked sadly penitent. He was wearing only his blue silk boxers, his own erection gone as well, “My apologies John.” John looked up at Sherlock and saw the red in his cheek. Sherlock was mortified.

“Come here,” John lifted his arm and Sherlock immediately curled into him, his curly head resting over John’s heart, “It was just an accident. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” John felt strangely comforted by Sherlock’s warmth even though his groin ached. He should probably get some paracetamols too but he wasn’t getting up right that second for anything.

“No? I’d say sabotaging your own first time by nearly sexually crippling your lover is cause for slight embarrassment.” John could feel the heat of Sherlock’s blush against his chest and Sherlock’s whole body tensed in a full length cringe. The ice was doing its job and John felt some of the ache seep away. John didn’t quite know what to say to Sherlock since full-on sex had definitely been on the table and it had been a very romantic and lovely evening. Now instead of a fairy-tale date ending in spectacular sex both of them were clinging to one another in pain and shame while John held a bag of ice to his balls.

Sherlock held John for only a couple of minutes before cautiously pulling away and getting John some pain medication and a glass of water. He even thought to get a straw so John didn’t have to move so much. Once tended Sherlock went so far as to fix the pillows so John could partially recline and Sherlock could still cuddle up to him. It took a bit for the pills to kick in but John sighed with relief when they did. When John judged that the ice had done all it was going to do Sherlock took the bag away. After a few minutes he came back so John rolled to his side and curled up. He smiled to himself as he felt Sherlock spooning carefully up behind the doctor until he was being held gently. Sherlock’s breath was warm against John’s neck and he could feel Sherlock’s steady heartbeat against his back. John was much comforted and was finally able to relax as he breathed Sherlock’s scent in. Closing his eyes the smaller man allowed himself to fall asleep, ignoring the ceaseless ache between his legs.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was perfect. They had their plans made and Victor in their sights. John was illuminating as always and it was once again a sheer delight for Sherlock to discover another hidden surprise from his soldier. John looked content and happy, his eyes sparkled and his laugh was soft and filled with easy joyfulness. Sherlock felt aglow with the success of the evening. He was moderately pleased with himself for having read the evening correctly and for making the proper choices to make John smile just as he was.

By the time the taxi made it back to the flat Sherlock was having a hard time thinking clearly. John’s fingers on his thigh had been extremely distracting and he couldn’t still his body’s response completely. He wasn’t accustomed to his transport being so demanding and ever since he and John had embarked on their new relationship Sherlock had found it more and more difficult to focus on anything but John. When they got back to the flat Sherlock felt a quick thrill at how readily John ran up the stairs after him. The second the door had been very well shut John was pinning him to the wall the second he locked it shut and kissing his detective almost harshly, “You’re mine, you know that.”

There was no hesitation, “I am.” Sherlock had no interest in disagreeing no matter how primitive John sounded. In fact it was rather thrilling to see that possessive look in his face, to feel his lips be so demanding, to have John’s hard small body forcing him against the cool wall of the stairwell. Sherlock wanted to belong to John, he wanted to belong to someone who understood him, who respected him and John did. Every single possessive tone in John’s voice was like the sweetest balm for Sherlock’s lonely soul. For John to want Sherlock, to have someone who wanted him so much he’d be willing to endure absolutely anything, was a rare and precious gift that Sherlock clearly understood he was not deserving of.

Sherlock was not familiar with human nature in such a way that he reacted naturally to it. His responses were studied, practiced. Sherlock was aware that he missed many social cues and it was a large handicap that he had lived awkwardly with until the day John Watson moved in. Then it was like Sherlock had his own translator, someone who created a bridge from where Sherlock comprehended reality and to where the rest of humanity lived. John understood both sides and that made him the most amazing man in the world to Sherlock.

The nervous tension he had been feeling since Victor had placed his hand so deliberately on Sherlock’s hip was finally ebbing away. John’s kisses were the gentlest drug, making Sherlock feel heavy and languorous even as his body took flight. Sherlock wanted to show John, to demonstrate his immense regard for his brave soldier until no one could ever doubt that Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson.

John took the opportunity to bite Sherlock’s bottom lip, nipping it just a bit. Sherlock couldn’t believe how much he liked it and felt his whole body arc toward John in an attempt to get closer than ever. John kept kissing Sherlock everywhere he could reach and even with their clothes still on Sherlock’s entire body was responding to each and every delicious press. Clothes! They had to get rid of these wretched, skin denying clothes!

Sherlock tried not to blush when his shirt buttons refused to part except that John seemed to have his whole shirt hanging off of one arm, the smaller man clearly having issues with one of the cuffs. What the devil was wrong with his shirt? Sherlock dressed every single day and never once had such difficulty getting the buttons through their allotted buttonholes! It took more than a couple of minutes before he managed to get the idiotic thing off but John was free and clear of his garment at the same time and thankfully wanted to kiss Sherlock some more.

John’s skin was so enchanting. Sherlock was constantly aroused by the feel of John’s flesh. Their mouths pressed together even as the bared skin of their chest and bellies met. Sherlock could feel John’s heat right to his core and his desire for the small solider ratcheted higher than ever.

Sherlock could feel his erection pressed against the material of his trousers and pants. He needed more of his skin touching John, not less! With a small huff of frustration Sherlock stepped away from John and fumbled with the button at his waist, forgetting his belt for a second before finally managing to get his trousers open. Fuck! Sherlock realized his expensive leather shoes were still on. They were custom made for Sherlock specifically to run around London in so they laced on firmly and could not be toed off. Sherlock dropped down to anxiously undo the ties but just as he did so John’s leg bent as he removed his footwear, catching Sherlock in the temple a bit. John’s instant, “Sorry.” rang out but Sherlock wasn’t really hurt, he just needed to get his stupid shoes off, “Give me a minute.”

Success! Triumphant Sherlock threw his shoes away, got rid of his socks and everything else except his pants because John was right in front of him and Sherlock couldn’t wait another second. He needed John, desperately. He was aching to be possessed, so tired of being a virgin. He should have insisted John penetrate him right away instead of waiting. John’s trousers were now hanging off his hips now that his shoes and socks had been dealt with. In a rage of unthinking lust Sherlock lunged ahead and yanked down John’s remaining clothing, stepping on his own belt buckle which caused Sherlock to reflexively draw his leg up, effectively kneeing John right in the testicles.

John collapsed onto the bed with Sherlock right on top of him. Sherlock’s brain blanked out in horror. Suddenly he was lifted and tossed to the side even as John curled himself up into a protective hedgehog, his hands cupping the insulted area carefully. Sherlock’s personal hell continued unabated and with hands that actually shied away from causing more damage he gently touched John’s shoulder. “John? Are you alright?”

“Give me a minute.” The doctor’s voice sounded thick with passion and desire but Sherlock correctly read it as pain and his embarrassment deepened even more. Had he hurt John? Please please please no! Not tonight, or any night really, but especially tonight! It was going to happen, it had been going to happen. John gritted, “Get the blue bag.” It wasn’t happening.

Sherlock felt conflicted for only a second before taking his scarlet cheeks away to the kitchen where he quickly dug out one of their pain management devices. The frequency of their various injuries was such that John had obtained two of different sizes. The gigantic red one was deflated but still in the freezer waiting to be filled with ice. The smaller blue one was on top, already filled and waiting to be used. Sherlock fished it out and brought it to John who immediately placed it on his groin. Sherlock’s cheeks burned hotter than ever. Who did this kind of thing? Was he so incapable that getting undressed had become an injury-worthy activity! They had been about to make love, John had planned to penetrate Sherlock, Sherlock knew it. He’d been waiting for so long! “My apologies John.” 

John just looked at Sherlock, the pain in his face carefully repressed. “Come here,” John lifted his arm and Sherlock immediately curled into him, his curly head resting over John’s heart, “It was just an accident. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Sherlock WAS embarrassed though. How incredibly unforgivably clumsy of him!

“No? I’d say sabotaging your own first time by nearly sexually crippling your lover is cause for slight embarrassment.” No one would ever touch Sherlock again! John was being extremely nice right now because he was a soldier and a gentleman. He’d leave Sherlock for sure now. Who would want to stay with someone who fucking kneed their lover’s cock and balls seconds before sex? Sherlock’s whole head was on fire with embarrassment and shame. He felt emotional too, like he wanted to cry. Well he should cry. John was going to break things off with him and probably leave first thing in the morning.

Sherlock tried to care for John. He gave him paracetamols and water, tried to make him as comfortable as possible. John took them without speaking. With sinking heart Sherlock watched as John turned his back to him. When John set the blue bag aside at long last Sherlock bore it away, readying it for its next use before storing back in their freezer and returning to John. Sherlock’s heart was shattering but like always he was so weak he could not give John the privacy he clearly sought. With even more shame Sherlock slid carefully into place behind John, cautiously gathering the soldier close. Sherlock only had tonight to enjoy the scent of his lover. Tomorrow was likely the beginning of the end. 

 

* * *

By the time John woke up the worst of the ache had entirely vanished and there was only the memory of pain left behind. He was a bit horny but Sherlock was sleeping hard and John really needed the loo so he crept out of bed carefully and used the facilities. One hot shower and a nice shave later John felt prepared to deal with things. They had a meeting with Victor Trevor today and John needed to prepare.

He opened their fridge. There was nothing edible in it. There was food, but John saw that one of Sherlock’s experiment bags had opened and even though it wasn’t dripping onto everything the entire fridge reeked. John wasn’t going to eat anything in there! With a sigh he pulled out the bin and chucked all the contaminated foodstuffs out. He looked in their supply cupboard for a replacement liner after he came back from the alley but there wasn’t one. Well he had to go to the shops anyway.

John mused. He was living full time in Sherlock’s room, maybe it was time to swap things around properly and move in like they were a normal couple instead of two teens who snuck back and forth to each other’s rooms when they were looking for a little action. John considered his clothes. Most of them were worn thin; all of them were out of date. He imagined what his clothes would look like pressed up against Sherlock’s. It wasn’t the most harmonious image John had ever had in his head. 

Really, he wasn’t attached to his old junky clothes. Most of them were replacement clothes he’d gotten at second-hand stores after ruining something on a case. It wasn’t against the law to shop for new clothes. John could certainly afford it now. He wasn’t interested in designer togs like Sherlock was but maybe he could look in stores that sold clothes that weren’t pre-loved. After a minute of thought John realized he needed to bin his old clothes and get new ones but he couldn’t just garbage them. Deciding to donate his still usable wardrobe to the homeless shelters instead John left a note on the kitchen table, “Gone to the shops to get boxes for my clothes. BRB.”

While John was there he shopped for enough food to get them through the day, meaning he got milk for their tea, some eggs and sandwich ingredients as well as a fresh box of bin liners. Since he had shopped the store was more willing to let John walk off with three sturdy boxes, one containing his newly purchased groceries. The chip and pin machine was cooperative for once so John was well pleased. With a smile John went back to Baker Street.

He wasn’t prepared to be knocked down AGAIN the second he entered the flat with the boxes. Sherlock was naked except for the pants he’d slept in. The taller man was wild, crazed looking and he was clinging to John and babbling words of apology over and over again. John was concerned. The taller man was in the advanced stage of a complete melt-down of some kind, “What happened? Sherlock, answer me. What happened? Calm down? Is it Mycroft, what happened?”

“You John! You’re leaving me! Why? I’ll be better. I swear. John, don’t go! I’m so sorry about last night. I can make it up to you somehow, please. Please don’t go!” Sherlock’s eyes were red and he was incredibly agitated. The second he stopped speaking though Sherlock dashed away and John followed him to the bathroom where Sherlock was spectacularly ill.

“Shh! Sherlock, shh, I’m not leaving you. Why would you think that? I just went to get breakfast. Sherlock?” John rinsed out a flannel and eased Sherlock away from the toilet after flushing the mess away. Sherlock’s eyes were even more reddened and he was so pale John made him sit down on the floor before he collapsed.

“I hurt you last night.” said Sherlock wanly.

“That was an accident.” said John with some confusion. Sherlock had definitely done it on accident. If he’d done it on purpose he would have taken notes afterward and probably written a paper about autonomic responses.

“You left a note. You were packing your clothes.” Sherlock’s voice did a strange hitch and the last word was almost broken. John felt awful when he thought about his quick jot. In retrospect his choice of wording could have used a second thought.

“Sherlock, it’s alright. Yes I got boxes for my clothes,” that same almost whine of pain was heard and Sherlock hiccupped miserably, “I was going to donate some of the dinosaurs in my wardrobe and get some new things. Something less tatty, um, I was going to ask if I could move into your room properly.”

Sherlock gaped at John. Clearly he hadn’t expected this response and John felt a curl of discomfort. Sherlock clearly hadn’t thought of letting John move in the rest of the way. That’s as far as that idea got in John’s head before he was being squeezed into pieces by Sherlock’s thin wiry arms, “Yes! Please John! Yes of course, I should have offered. I’m such a fool.” Sherlock wasn’t letting go and John was becoming a bit concerned about his ability to breathe. Still he couldn’t help be a bit pleased with Sherlock’s reaction.

“Did you seriously think I was leaving you?” Sherlock hid his face in John’s neck and the increase of heat let John know that Sherlock was flushed with embarrassment yet again, “Can’t get rid of me that easily Sherlock. We Watsons are tenacious. It’s going to take more than being accidently kicked in the nuts to make me go.”

“I’m so sorry John! I’ve never been so embarrassed.” Sherlock’s cheeks had indeed lit up yet again. John hadn’t seen Sherlock blush this much ever. Ever. Like ever! John felt a flood of warmth fill him as he began to understand something. Sherlock cared for him, really cared. John’s whole heart filled with love as a small hope began to burn. If Sherlock cared this much maybe, just maybe, love wasn’t out of the question. Sherlock hadn’t said it yet but surely THIS was an indicator of the genius’ feelings. 

John loved Sherlock more than ever and silently resolved to tell Sherlock. He couldn’t keep it inside for much longer. John needed to tell Sherlock how he felt, and soon. “Time for breakfast Sherlock, come on beautiful. Let’s go.” 

 

* * *

 

When Sherlock woke alone in bed his heart dropped to the floor. John had left him without a word! Worry bloomed instantly. Creeping out from the covers Sherlock went right to the bathroom, his heart cracking as he saw the steamy mirror and walls. John had showered already, not even waking Sherlock! The tall pale man didn’t notice how his skin went bloodless or how his fingers curled into worried fists. John would be in the kitchen making tea. That’s where he was. Sherlock repeated this sentence with every step, willing John to still please be here.

The note was on the table, just lying there innocently as it sliced the soul from Sherlock’s body.  
“Gone to the shops to get boxes for my clothes. BRB” Sherlock had to grip the table to still himself. His head was spinning. His heart was disintegrating into a hundred thousand pieces. His nightmare was coming true and John was leaving him. Last night had been the last straw; clearly it had been too much at last and now, John! Oh John!

Sherlock wanted to wail. He wanted to rip his hair out by the roots, to claw the skin off his body. John was leaving him! Leaving him! It was too horrible to contemplate, too grievous a harm to even approach yet. Sherlock’s chest was tight and his entire body screamed with the agony of separation. He’d never survive without John. The addiction was too great. Sherlock’s transport would wither and expire without regular doses of John.

The steady footfalls on the stairwell alerted Sherlock that John had returned. His rational mind completely forsaking him Sherlock barreled to the door and nearly threw himself at John, his arms winding around the smaller man, determined to never, ever, let go. “What happened? Sherlock, answer me. What happened? Calm down? Is it Mycroft, what happened?”

Sherlock couldn’t stop the words of penitence and apology the fell from his lips. He rattled on at light-speed, every syllable thrown out with anxious desperation. Sherlock could not let John go without a fight, “You John! You’re leaving me! Why? I’ll be better. I swear. John, don’t go! I’m so sorry about last night. I can make it up to you somehow, please. Please don’t go!”

John looked entirely shocked, his eyes roamed over Sherlock’s face and he grew concerned looking. Suddenly it was all too much, Sherlock’s stomach was twisted and sick feeling. He couldn’t stop it and barely made it to the bathroom on time to empty himself. John was leaving him and Sherlock wanted to die.

The toilet flushed and a warm damp cloth passed over his face. John’s voice was gentle and tender, “Shh! Sherlock, shh, I’m not leaving you. Why would you think that? I just went to get breakfast. Sherlock?” 

“I hurt you last night.” Sherlock tried to be impassive and calm. He was appalled with how much emotion each word contained.

John just looked at Sherlock in puzzlement then said, “That was an accident.” John seemed alright. He was standing there and now that Sherlock thought on it John’s steps on the stairs hadn’t indicated any discomfort. Still, fierce worry raged within the younger man.

“You left a note. You were packing your clothes.” Sherlock couldn’t control anything his voice was doing. He was close to stuttering, something he hadn’t done since he was a small child and John’s face looked distressed but still confused.

“Sherlock, it’s alright. Yes I got boxes for my clothes,” Sherlock’s transport made the same strange sound and when he tried to stop it from happening again his whole body hic’d ungracefully. He was a wreck! “I was going to donate some of the dinosaurs in my wardrobe and get some new things. Something less tatty, um, I was going to ask if I could move into your room properly.”

Sherlock’s brain shut down for a second as it went into reverse. John wasn’t leaving? John wanted to move his things from upstairs to downstairs? To have their clothes pressed together in the wardrobe, maybe even their socks and pants tucked together in the same drawer like an old married couple? “Yes! Please John! Yes of course, I should have offered. I’m such a fool.” Sherlock threw his arms around John, recognizing he was being possibly over-demonstrative but not being able to help himself . This was John, precious, irreplaceable, completely necessary John. No amount of gestures or words would be enough to offer John, no declaration or attempt to let him know how much Sherlock needed him could ever go unsaid. With resolve Sherlock decided he was going to tell John. He’d wait for the perfect moment, something John would appreciate afterward. He’d tell John he loved him and let the chips fall where they may.

“Did you seriously think I was leaving you?” Now that he thought about it Sherlock realized John was too much of a gentleman to just up and walk out. Look how long he kept dealing with that peroxide wretch! Sherlock felt his entire head heat as he blushed. John’s voice was fond and warm, “Can’t get rid of me that easily Sherlock. Watsons are tenacious. It’s going to take more than being accidently kicked in the nuts to make me go.”

“I’m so sorry John! I’ve never been so embarrassed.” 

Sherlock’s whole head was going to burn off but all John did was softly say, “Time for breakfast Sherlock, come on beautiful. Let’s go.”

Sherlock was a bit clingy after that but John didn’t tease him about it. Sherlock’s feelings were untried in most areas; he tended toward extreme reactions until he’d gathered enough emotional data to curb his excesses. John had a lot of patience and it was rather nice to able to nuzzle and snuggle with him as he put morning tea together. Sherlock would never behave like this in front of anyone but they were alone and he needed the comfort. John was wonderful, of course he was, and just allowed it and even seemed to enjoy it.

John wanted to upgrade his wardrobe and Sherlock was one hundred percent behind that idea. He’d get John a starter collection, just a few shirts, some trousers and some jumpers. Sherlock’s mind whirled and danced as he sorted through all the clothiers he knew and made up a list in his mind of where to obtain some unobtrusive and not obviously upper-class clothes that would complement his John but not make him feel uncomfortably like a posh pretender. Closing his eyes Sherlock daydreamed about how smart his lover would look in a proper jumper, maybe something dark green to bring out the gold in his skin.

John wouldn’t just accept clothes though. He was a proud man, that’s why he was still wearing his dreadful jumpers from the bargain bins and other non-Holmes establishments. Sherlock put his mind to considering how to best gift his lover with the offering without offense. Sherlock already had John’s measurements, all in great detail. Over the years Sherlock had collected a substantial amount of data about John, all of it was fascinating. He’d text some of the businesses who would best suit John’s simple tastes and begin tomorrow. Sherlock wanted to wrap John head to toe in nothing but gifts from his hand so everyone would know that he and John were together.

Sherlock had a plan, a nebulous one. He had been considering all the ramifications, especially since his initial soundings had been quite positive. Sherlock had done a lot of calculations and had determined his need for John in his life more than justified taking their relationship to the ultimate level. John deserved no less than that. Sherlock had goals now, precious ones. He needed to tell John he loved him. Sherlock needed to acquire a new wardrobe for John and figure out how to give it to him without offense. Sherlock needed to ask John to marry him. Closing his eyes, Sherlock put all his mental resources to the tasks at hand.

 

* * *

 

John put the kettle on and made pancakes. It was a tiny bit tricky because he had a six foot barnacle on his back but John wouldn’t change a thing. Sherlock was very clearly lost in his mind palace but was firmly attached to John who just moved around the kitchen like normal. John had to smile and nearly laughed when Sherlock began humming absently and petting John’s arm thoughtfully. Since pancakes didn’t require ALL of John’s mental capacity he put some thought to his goals.

John wanted to tell Sherlock he loved him. He wanted to do it soon. Maybe if John was the brave one Sherlock would see that having feelings like that was actually a good thing and not a problem the way Mycroft often suggested. John was a bit worried. Sherlock was enjoying the physical aspect to their relationship but he hadn’t exactly made any emotional declaration. John was a little bit worried about his imminent declaration. 

Sherlock was the most incredible man in the world. John would never tire of being a part of Sherlock’s existence. Still, he needed to be realistic. Just because they were having sex now, and just because Sherlock sort-of-kind-of-if-you-squinted-and-looked-at-it-at-the-right-angle proposed to him didn’t mean that Sherlock was in love with John. He was possessive. Sherlock wouldn’t even let other people hold his coat. He always made John hold it. If he was possessive of his coat, of course he’d be possessive of John, it only stood to reason. 

Still, that wasn’t the same as being loved so John kept thinking on it. Maybe he should make a list, establish some goals. What did John want? That was easy, to spend forever with Sherlock. How could John accomplish that. Well, it was pretty straight-forward. Once John told Sherlock how he felt and suffered through the scathing commentary about the pointlessness of sentimentality the John could move ahead and work toward the day when he could ask Sherlock to marry him. John was sure he would never love anyone but Sherlock and if there was someone on the planet who suited John better, well then they had lost their chance. “Eat up beautiful. We have a lot of work to do this afternoon.” Two pm would roll around soon enough and then they would be seeing Victor Trevor again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is Victor up to? Why would he grope Sherlock and give a sleazy invite to his flat? Food for thought.


	8. Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So date night didn't end quite the way either man had hoped and Sherlock still hasn't managed to have all-the-way sex! What's a man to do!

Sherlock was wrapped around John in every way possible when John was startled awake early the next morning. Someone was knocking on their door. Shrugging Sherlock off John got up, got himself decent as fast as he could and went to see who could possibly need to stop by before seven in the morning!

Janine was standing there holding her purse and looking awkward when she took in John’s appearance, “Oh! I thought you’d be up by now. Mary’s shifts start early so I assumed…I guess that was kind of silly. Shit. I guess you were still sleeping?” She was biting her lip and standing nervously at the doorway. John had answered the door quickly, barely taking the time to tie his robe shut. He realized now that his hair was flattened on one side and he was accidentally wearing Sherlock’s robe and house-shoes, both of which were too big. John blinked once and just staring blankly at her. Sherlock slunk out from the bedroom, magically dressed in a stunning black suit, and his hair perfectly groomed. John hated him for a second. He was tired and his groin was still a bit achy. John still had morning plans though and had not anticipated receiving a visitor before he’d even cracked his eyes open.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes John yawned and said, “What makes you say that? Would you like some tea?” John just turned on his heel and shuffled off to the kitchen, Sherlock’s huge slippers smacking the floor with every step. John couldn’t operate without tea. Janine meekly followed him in and sat at the table.

Sherlock entered the kitchen, moving with languid grace as he looked down at their visitor. His eyes cut toward John who was glowering at the kettle, “Felicitations Janine, do you have a case for us? What can we do for you while we enjoy the dawn?”

“I made John grumpy Sherl, sorry. I was going to ask you both out on a double tonight. Molly needs backup.” John stopped staring intently at the kettle, trying to will it to boil faster but now he turned back to look at their new friend. She smiled hopefully at John and explained further, “A double date, you, the prince of darkness over there, Molly, and of course, me. Well?”

“Why us?” asked Sherlock who had seated himself as close to John as he could safely get. He practically smoldered in his suit. He was wearing another darkly colored shirt and John almost laughed when he realized Sherlock did look like a vampire. All he needed were some fangs and he’d be good to go.

“Molly is comfortable around John and I like Sherlock so we thought it would be easier getting to know one another if we had a buffer. So?” Janine looked back and forth at both of them, “Well it’s not complicated, are you free tonight after seven to come out for some drinks with Molly and I or not?”

“Is this because of the bow? I’ll give it back. I’m not really interested in social interactivity.” Sherlock made to stand up but John’s hand on his shoulder pushed him back down.

“What he actually meant to say was that he’s very excited to experience a new set of social variables and we’d be delighted to join you at the venue of your choice this evening. Sherlock’s only just woken up; he’ll be clearer after he’s had some tea.” John kept his hand firmly on Sherlock who was still trying to struggle gracefully away without it seeming like he was doing anything of the sort. Eventually he just adjusted how he was sitting and pretended John was just being affectionate.

“Yes Janine. That’s exactly what I meant.” John gave Sherlock his tea and slid a cup over to Janine. “Thank you John.” Janine and Sherlock sat quietly for a few minutes while John worked.

“Want some breakfast?” John had lots of groceries for once but she shook her head. “Well, you’ve got our number. We’ll be working today so maybe shoot us a reminder text around six?” That would give them an out from Victor and John wasn’t unhappy about that.

“Right, okay then. Molly says she’s planned an activity she thinks we’ll all like but she’s keeping it a surprise. I’ll see you later Sherl?” Sherlock huffed and frowned but nodded. Janine sipped the last of her tea quickly before she got up and walked around the table to kiss Sherlock on the cheek. Sherlock huffed again, impatiently this time, but still tilted his head to accept it. Janine winked at John and left them both with a smile.

“We should tell Donovan you’ve made a friend on you own Sherlock. That’s two now. Look at you go.” John poked Sherlock’s shoulder and went back to making breakfast. Sherlock got up and kissed the back of John’s neck. “I wonder where we’ll end up tonight.”

“Knowing Molly we’re probably going to some kind of Best in Show for cats.” remarked Sherlock who began drinking his tea with obvious enjoyment. John made a big breakfast since they were up so early. Today would seem even longer than ever and John just wanted to go back to bed and sleep until noon. It wasn’t possible though, they had chores to do, and appointments to get to this morning to see the first in a series of specialists. The Holmes family had access to the very best medical care and their appointments had been made at the earliest possible opportunity. John couldn’t forget how ill Sherlock had been, no matter how fit he seemed at the moment.

“If we’re lucky we’ll get to go a cat fashion show. I’ve seen some of those videos she posts online. Those were hysterical.” John was chuckling. Molly sent both Sherlock and John endless links to amusing videos. Sherlock had her blocked but John always watched whatever she had passed along.

“I don’t believe humor was the goal John. Correct me if I’m wrong but I believe Molly’s cat, the esteemed Toby, possesses a substantial wardrobe.” Well Sherlock would know. He used Molly’s apartment as a bolt-hole dozens of times now, no matter how often John scolded him about it. No matter how rudely Sherlock spoke to Molly, John knew the detective had always had a soft spot for the young lady. She was bright enough that Sherlock felt working with her on a long term basis was acceptable, and she had earned his grudging respect when she had helped him escape Moriarty’s trap. Disparaging comments aside Sherlock wouldn’t go to the morgue if any other pathologist was there, he would only deal with Molly.

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go to a cat fashion show.” John served up breakfast and dropped a kiss on Sherlock’s head. He finished his serving while Sherlock nibbled his away slowly, “Eat up. I’m going to shower. After you can help me do some chores since we’ve got spare time before we leave.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know you don’t but you are.”

“I’m really not.”

“It won’t kill you.”

“I’m too ill John. I might have a reaction to one of the cleaning products.”

“I’m a doctor; I’ll be right here with you making sure you don’t die from mopping the floor.” John did what he always did and chivvied Sherlock along to take care of those little details that Sherlock found boring but that still needed dealing with. Sherlock complained the entire morning, but in a contented kind of way, even when they were waiting for their consultations to begin. The appointments were long interviews with sober faced professionals who drew all manner of samples and wouldn’t let Sherlock read their notes, or access their database for more information.

Lunchtime arrived to greet a now legitimately grouchy Sherlock and a stressed and worried John. Sherlock wouldn’t eat and reluctantly sipped tea as John ate food he purchased at a small takeaway near a park. They sat in the sun together, just relaxing on the grass. Sherlock was using John as a backrest, his head on John’s shoulder and his back against John’s chest as the doctor sat cross-legged behind him. John rather liked how heavy Sherlock was and very much liked the increasing displays of public affection. He had initially thought he’d be a bit embarrassed by it but it was no different really than the times he’d gone out with various girlfriends, in fact it was better. Sherlock was idly deducing people who were strolling along and divulging embarrassing personal facts about each of them while John tried not to giggle too loudly. Eventually though it was time to get to work so with a sigh and a squeeze of their hands Sherlock and John went back to Victor.

They were greeted by a PA named Phalen. She had been waiting for them with Victor in his office. Sherlock and John had arrived a few minutes early and had been ushered straight to Victor’s door. She had bright red hair that was neatly tucked away in a tight bun, a smattering of tiny freckles were still evident even through her carefully subdued makeup. She was an inch or two shorter than John but was wearing a sharp business skirt and jacket with a plain white blouse and she had a mobile in her hand, texting furiously. John’s first impression was of a ginger Anthea. Phalen was introduced as one of Victor’s personal assistants and had been assigned to assist Sherlock during his examination of the archived experiments. Unlike Anthea Phalen tucked her mobile away instantly and gave John a warm friendly smile and firm handshake, “Pleased to meet you Doctor Watson, I’m thrilled to get a chance to work with the most famous blogger in London.”

John wasn’t exactly sure what to say, Phalen was standing only a few inches in front of him and her perfume was delicate and floral. Green eyes bore both mirth and intelligence and her smile seemed to be just for John. She turned to Sherlock, “Of course, everyone on the team practically came to blows for a chance to work with you Mr. Holmes! I hope I make a good impression. I can’t wait to see what I learn from the master of observation!”

Both men took in her clear enthusiasm. Victor gave her a boss-worthy smile and indicated the door. Instantly Phalen scooped up the tablet that Sherlock had left and led their small group to the archives, chatting with John the entire way about his blog and their adventures, “Can I get you some tea? Any sort of refreshment?” she offered brightly. They shook their heads again so she just began to retrieve a selection of files and boxes for Sherlock to begin examining. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“I’ll need the complete financial reports for the last three quarters and a comprehensive staff list of everyone attached to the projects as well as rival departments.” Sherlock began to go through the files, completely dismissing Phalen’s existence as he began to go through the file. Victor was smiling down at Sherlock but it was tight, almost predatory. Phalen was industriously working among the shelves as she pulled appropriate boxes out and set them down on a set of long tables. After she was done she opened a slim laptop and worked for a minute. Victor had to come over to enter his passcode but then Sherlock’s tablet received an additional packet of information. Sherlock didn’t bat an eye and seemed to be completely absorbed in his work.

John sat himself back and began to examine the contents of the tablet. Victor gave John a strange look but John had decided to ignore the man as much as possible. He read his way through some of the preliminary information and made note of the names of the scientists and researchers involved. There was a large file containing the human resource information for everyone, one at a time John went through it all. Phalen came over and sat in the chair next to him, her laptop set up so John could see the screen easily. She smiled and pointed to it, “I can go through these with you if you like.”

John saw she’d drawn up the same file. Well, some chat about the people from someone who might have actually met them in person would always be useful. John would pay attention to the information he was going to be fed. He didn’t trust this woman, not if she was a PA of THAT man. She couldn’t be good news and John had been suspicious of her the second he’d laid eyes on her. Sherlock seemed oblivious to her; John wouldn’t be surprised if Sherlock had already deleted her name, but when Sherlock’s raised his head, John saw nothing but pure jealousy all over the dark-haired detective. It was lucky that Victor had turned away just then because John couldn’t stop the cheeky smirk that plastered itself across his face so he winked at Sherlock to let him know the game was on. Sherlock’s face smoothed out without a word spoken and he went back to reading, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

The doctor kept a discrete eye on Victor as well, like last time the man made every effort to reach out and connect with Sherlock physically. Sherlock was smooth, moving out of the way each time just enough so that Victor would be forced to be obviously chasing after him in order to make contact. He didn’t. Finally Victor tried to suggest that John go and grab everyone something to eat at the cafeteria since they were going to be a while. Sherlock looked up at Victor and his voice was cold, “John is not your lackey. Send your drone to get food if you’re hungry. I don’t eat when I’m working and John will tell me if he’s hungry which he hasn’t. If you don’t mind Victor, can you stand a bit further back? I don’t know where you get your aftershave but the blend is making me nauseated.”

Victor’s flush was not enchanting. John kept his face wiped clean of any sort of reaction, pretending he hadn’t heard Sherlock just now. Victor moved away and sat down finally, yanking his laptop in front of him and barking orders to Phalen. The PA jumped right up and rushed out to fetch her boss his lunch. John kept reading the employee files that Phalen had left open on her computer. John noted that there were other shortcuts on her desktop. Victor was directly in front of John, there was no way he could see what John was looking at so calmly John opened one folder after another and examined the information using all the skill he’d learned from Sherlock. He couldn’t wait to get home to tell Sherlock what he’d discovered.

There was a lot of data to go through after she returned and Sherlock had finally started taking copious notes. John needed the loo so Phalen marked where they’d left off and he excused himself for a few minutes. When he came back Phalen was gone again and Victor had Sherlock backed into a corner. John only heard the last few words of his huskily delivered comment, “….won’t be able to walk for two days, promise.”

Sherlock looked at Victor, bent in half and vomited all over Victor’s patent leather shoes, “Your aftershave is worse than your pickup lines. I’ve got a date tonight with two lovely ladies. I’m afraid I’m booked Victor. John. I’m unwell again. Take me home.” Sherlock walked calmly toward John, scooping up the tablet on his way by even as he patted his mouth clean with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. Victor was frozen in disgusted horror, staring down at his ruined shoes with his mouth open in shock. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before they were gone.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock lay in bed for ages just holding John as he slept. He’d awoken after only a sleep of a few hours but had felt strangely reluctant to leave his soldier’s side. Instead Sherlock indulged himself with observing John’s breathing pattern and heart rate as he slept. Of course, to the unprofessional observer it looked like Sherlock was cuddling himself to John’s chest and holding his hand. Sherlock was feeling various urges, mostly ones concerning the exploration of John’s rather lovely body. John always complained about not being fit enough and of aging poorly but Sherlock didn’t understand. John was bloody gorgeous.

John’s body was compact and mostly hard but years and a slightly more indulgent lifestyle had left him with a few wrinkles and a podgy handful around his navel. Sherlock thought it was incredible. Carefully he reached down and stroked curious fingers over the soft mound and found it pleasing. The rest of John’s figure was simply perfect in Sherlock’s view.

Stretching a bit Sherlock pressed his torso firmly against John’s side and carefully wove their arms and legs together so he could breathe in John’s good clean smell and enjoy the steady heat from John’s body. Sherlock felt content and clear. His mind was active but it wasn’t the unpleasant buzzing it normally was. He was thinking about his goals. Sherlock wanted to make his declaration memorable and wondered what it was that John found particularly romantic. Sherlock had never been so aware of his lack of social skills. Suddenly it worried him the way it had never troubled him before.

John was a very special man, everyone had remarked on it. He was caring and patient, tolerant but strict. He understood Sherlock the way no one else ever seemed to be able to. John made Sherlock feel things, things he’d never considered important and Sherlock wanted John to understand how appreciated he was. Sherlock lay there and fretted quietly. He really loved John. John deserved something remarkable, something that wouldn’t embarrass him, something that led into Sherlock being able to propose to him.

With that thought Sherlock carefully lifted John’s left hand. Feeling blindly behind him Sherlock managed to awkwardly reach his night table and grabbed his mobile charger cord. Carefully he twisted it around John’s ring finger and used his own thumbnail to mark the plastic cable before gently removing it and laying John’s hand back down. Sherlock checked the crimp he had made and it was obvious to him where it was but probably not to anyone else, should anyone care to look. John couldn’t even tell the difference between the two models they had so Sherlock wasn’t worried about him noticing two new dimples in the casing. Ring size noted Sherlock settled in to hold John carefully once again.

The knock on the door activated John like an on switch. Sherlock had personally witnessed John go from dead sleep to dangerous wakefulness on several occasions. When John fell asleep on the sofa Sherlock was always careful to make recognizable sounds around his flatmate. When John had first moved in Sherlock had ghosted around as was his usual wont until a careless brush against a sleeping John found Sherlock pinned to the floor with his throat being crushed by the small soldier who crouched menacingly over the much larger man. It had terrified Sherlock as much as it had turned him on and his breathless gasp when John let go almost immediately wasn’t just for air. John had apologized profusely and had nearly wrung his hands as he struggled to contain the adrenaline that was obviously rushing through him. Whoever was at the door now had better hope John didn’t recognize them as a foe. His reactions were stuck on automatic until he had some tea.

John had taken Sherlock’s robe and slippers. Shaking his head fondly Sherlock grabbed the first suit that came to hand as well as the first shirt, not even looking to see what he had chosen. He noted that the fit was a bit snug, even for him. John was feeding Sherlock too much; he’d have to get his suits remade unless John could be made to see sense. Running his fingers through his hair and giving it a scratch and a shake Sherlock went out to see who was foolish enough to wake John.

He was disappointed to see it was Janine. Sherlock had been hoping it was Lestrade or someone else objectionable so he could watch John lose his temper. Sherlock secretly enjoyed it when John raged. The small man was a rocket, blasting ahead in an unstoppable but controlled explosion of tempered fury. Sherlock got goose bumps just thinking about it. He was distracted right up until Janine made her request.

John’s hand on his shoulder was gentle and completely inescapable. Sherlock barely restrained a groan of dismay as John agreed to an evening out with Molly of all people! Sherlock wanted to have sex tonight, not go gad about town with people who weren’t John! With as much grace as he could muster Sherlock said, “Yes Janine. That’s exactly what I meant.” John rewarded Sherlock with tea and because John was a gentleman he gave a cup to Janine as well. Demonstrating appropriate public appreciation was on Sherlock’s list of things to do regularly now and they had a guest, “Thank you John.” It was too late though to back out of the date though he’d tried and Janine kissed Sherlock’s cheek goodbye. Sherlock wasn’t speaking to Janine. She’d ruined his plans for the evening. Still, John had accepted her invitation so there was nothing Sherlock could do to get out of it.

The rest of the morning would have been awful if Sherlock had to spend time with anyone else. John made even the most disagreeable situation tolerable though. Sherlock found himself trying harder than he normally did to do a good job helping John clean up their flat. John normally did nearly all the cleaning, the shopping, the laundry, the bill paying, the cooking, the everything really. Sherlock hadn’t really thought about all the things John did for him and he was further dismayed at how incredibly selfish he was and impressed with how selfless John was. To make up for it Sherlock went so far as to wash not only the kitchen floor but the bathroom as well, and while John was hoovering, Sherlock discretely got rid of the experiments that had been fermenting under the bathroom sink. He’d told John they needed time but in truth Sherlock had forgotten about them and then had been too lazy to clean them up. He did so now.

The doctor’s appointments were worrying. Sherlock’s arm had more needle-marks than ever now as vial after vial of blood had been drawn. He’d been poked, prodded, palpated, stethoscoped, mildly violated, and then had to listen to the ramblings of a bunch of witch doctors who didn’t seem to understand that Sherlock was perfectly capable of comprehending their dumbed-down and convoluted comments. Everything boiled down to one thing: they didn’t know anything yet. Sherlock’s illnesses were as much a mystery as ever. John was very upset, Sherlock could see the doctor’s hands tighten into distressed fists as one specialist after another shook their heads and began to run their tests without offering a single hint as to what could possibly be ailing Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to comfort John as much as he could. He made sure John ate lunch though he himself was not very hungry. He allowed himself to lean against John as they lounged afterward. John wouldn’t realize it but the activity mirrored their lives and Sherlock knew that subconsciously at least, John would know he was strong enough to hold Sherlock up whenever he was really needed, even if it was just for a bit of a cuddle after a meal. Sherlock knew John loved how Sherlock could read people and amused John by purposefully exposing minor peccadilloes of the strangers that walked around them. John’s giggle was absolutely adorable coming from someone as life-worn and deadly as John Hamish Watson. Sherlock always felt a warm glow inside when he made John laugh.

John was a soldier though and when the time came he did not balk, following Sherlock back to Victor’s without hesitation. Sherlock was so proud to have won someone as brave and loyal as John. Sherlock was itching to read the confidential research available through Victor and John had noticed the duplicity even before Sherlock had. That fact had made Sherlock feel astonished. His John was amazing! Sherlock couldn’t wait to see what his placid friend would unearth today. His sweet eyes saw things for Sherlock, and Sherlock loved it.

Sherlock hated it. There was a woman with them today and Victor’s knowing smirk made Sherlock want to stomp on his foot like a child. How dare Victor throw a piece of bait in front of John! The tarted up floozy wasted no time flirting with HIS John and John was responding! They were practically shoulder to shoulder reading off her laptop! Sherlock’s breath became difficult to control and he felt his stomach churn until John winked at him. Sherlock realized he had been glaring at that simpering sycophant and John had caught him at it. Sherlock forced the expression off his face, filled with satisfaction now. John was playing Victor’s game with his eyes wide open. He knew what the assistant was really there for, good old surprisingly clever John!

Sherlock still wasn’t feeling well though. This morning had concerned him and the hunger that had eluded him at lunchtime had now turned into a distant queasiness. Victor’s aftershave wasn’t helping. It was musky and thick, too heavy and it hung around Sherlock’s head like a miasma. The blasted man kept trying to get close to him too; didn’t he realize Sherlock was with John? Clearly not, Victor was obviously as obtuse as always, willfully blinding himself to what he chose not to see.

Sherlock had never been seriously pursued before. He didn’t know how to deal with Victor’s attempts. Sherlock’s relationship with John had grown naturally until it was clear there was nothing to be done for it but spend the rest of their lives with one another. If Victor expired right this second Sherlock wouldn’t even bat an eye. If the intriguing research hadn’t been so fascinating Sherlock would have walked away from this case before they’d even started. Finally after nearly two hours of dancing back and forth Victor tried to impose on John’s good nature, almost ordering John to fetch food and drink. Sherlock nearly snapped, filled with outrage, “John is not your lackey. Send your drone to get food if you’re hungry. I don’t eat when I’m working and John will tell me if he’s hungry which he hasn’t. If you don’t mind Victor, can you stand a bit further back? I don’t know where you get your aftershave but the blend is making me nauseated.”

Sherlock didn’t bother looking at Victor’s reaction. John’s face told Sherlock everything he needed to know and he was grimly pleased. Victor had no right trying to assert himself over John. Sherlock knew it was just a matter of time before Victor tried something once again and sure enough, as soon as John ambled trustingly away, Victor sent his PA off on an errand. Sherlock’s stomach roiled. He tried to keep up the dance of distance but it didn’t work without an audience. Victor wasn’t pulling any punches now; he crowded right up to Sherlock, his body moving sensuously as he tried to press up against Sherlock’s flesh. There was nowhere to go and the corner made an efficient trap.

Victor leaned in and smelled Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock’s stomach lurched and he forced himself not to cringe away in disgust, “I’ve been thinking about you for a long time Sherlock. I’ve been living here in London, watching your career just take off. I knew you couldn’t resist me, you came running as soon as I called.”

Victor was delusional! “John was interested in the case. I told him to delete your email but he vetoed my request. You have him to thank that I’m here at all.”

Victor practically purred, “Oh I’m thanking him already. Phalen has a real taste for military men. I’ve done my research. She fits every single one of Doctor Watson’s preferences when it comes to selecting dates. We have a rather comprehensive file on him now.” A file on John! His John! Nobody spied on John except Mycroft and ONLY because John was Sherlock’s!”

“Why in the world would you bother?” Sherlock was trying to breathe evenly. He wanted Victor to back off but if Sherlock showed any sign of weakness now Victor would take it as an invitation to continue his unwanted pursuit. Victor’s lunch was still evident on his breath too; Sherlock wasn’t fond of sushi to begin with.

“Everyone knows he’s the side-kick. If you want to get with the hero, you have to hook the side-kick up. Hi hero, I’m your reward for being so very clever. If you weren’t so clueless back in uni we could have done this already. After I have my way you won’t be able to walk for two days, promise.” The door was swinging open. With his peripherals Sherlock noted John’s instant reaction. Jealousy consumed the doctor on the spot and violence was imminent.

Victor’s breath was the last straw for Sherlock’s stomach. He couldn’t help himself and folding over Sherlock was thoroughly ill, managing to get nearly all the mess right onto Victor’s £800 designer shoes. “Your aftershave is worse than your pickup lines. I’ve got a date tonight with two lovely ladies. I’m afraid I’m booked Victor. John. I’m unwell again. Take me home.” Sherlock kept his pace steady as he walked toward John. He felt better with every step. To spite Victor further Sherlock took up the tablet as he patted his mouth clean with the handkerchief John had tucked helpfully into the Belstaff. John turned smartly on his heel and once again led Sherlock away.

They didn’t start laughing until they were nearly back to Baker Street. Not saying a word Sherlock simply went to the shower and washed off the smell of sick before changing into a fresh suit. By the time he was cleaned up John had a simple supper on the table. Sherlock went right over and hugged his lover, “Thank you John.”

“You feeling alright? How’s your tum?” John rubbed Sherlock’s stomach gently and the tall man smiled down softly at the love of his life. John’s touch was magic. Sherlock felt better and better every second.

“I’m alright now John, perfect in fact. Hungry even. Shall we?” Sherlock seated John who blushed a bit to be treated so but didn’t object otherwise. Sherlock couldn’t help staring at John who seemed even more handsome than ever. Sherlock didn’t know how he’d resisted John’s allure all this time but now he could see that he could never have enough of John Watson. John had put together a quick stir-fry, mixing in a wild assortment of spices the way he always did, choosing flavors he’d grown to like during his travels around the world. Sherlock very much enjoyed John’s freeform cooking style and preferred it to anything else available.

It was delicious as expected and Sherlock found that once again he’d cleaned his plate. At this rate he’d need to call his tailor in short order! Sherlock couldn’t say no to John’s edict about food so with only a bit of resignation Sherlock vowed to just quietly replace his clothes and not fuss John about his weight gain, that is, unless he started getting fat like Mycroft. Then he’d be forced to say something. Soon enough the meal was over and John went to get himself washed up while Sherlock did the dishes.

Sherlock hadn’t planned on spending a lot of time getting ready until he realized this would be his first public date with John as an established couple helping a fledgling couple get together. Suddenly it seemed very important to look his absolute best for John so Sherlock went to his wardrobe and pulled out an outfit based on clothes John had complimented in the past, his aubergine shirt that was almost too small now, his black dress jacket and a particular pair of trousers that Sherlock had noticed made John stutter whenever Sherlock wore them. After a five minute shower Sherlock dressed quickly, shook his hair out after swiping a careless handful of product through it. Sweeping out of his bedroom Sherlock went to the front room and stopped cold.

John was breath-taking. He’d pulled on a blue and black striped shirt and somewhere he’d rooted out a pair of soft looking blue trousers. Sherlock wanted to run his hands up and down John’s strong thighs, to test his strength and see how hard it would be to be shoved against a wall and…..Sherlock’s thoughts were derailed as John’s wolf-whistle cut through. “Wow Sherlock. Just wow! You look amazing!” John wasn’t shy with his appreciation. He never was. John was the only person Sherlock had ever met whose compliments rang true. John never faked it, he meant every word and because Sherlock knew that he blushed prettily which just made John whistle a second time, “Hi gorgeous.” said John with a predatory grin.

“Hi yourself.” said Sherlock, allowing his own predatory grin cross his face. Tonight was going to be the night, no matter what. Sherlock was not going another 24 hours as a virgin! There was no way Sherlock was going to let John out of his bed tonight until they’d finally managed to have sex properly. It was half-six already and Sherlock’s mobile chirped as a text from Janine arrived, it was an address and nothing else. “Before we go.” he murmured and pressed John against the door to kiss him breathless. Both men had glowing eyes and flushed cheeks before Sherlock was willing to relent and leave everything until later.

“Off we go.” said John after he shrugged into his coat and held Sherlock’s Belstaff for him, and who offered his arm like the gentleman he was to escort Sherlock downstairs. Sherlock accepted it and both men went to catch a taxi to their double date, stars in their eyes and neither man paying more attention than was necessary to direct the driver.

It was a pub which surprised both men a bit, “I don’t believe I’m familiar with this one.” said Sherlock who made a habit of being familiar with all sorts of London establishments. Still, it was impossible for him to know each one; there were thousands upon thousands of businesses in Greater London alone. The pub seemed homey and low-key. There were a group of smokers outside and they were laughing and chatting merrily before they went back inside. John took Sherlock’s arm again and both men went inside. They stopped cold in the doorway. Molly was waving energetically at them from a small table on the far side of the pub but John and Sherlock barely noticed her at first. They were too busy looking at the stage set against one wall. Molly had taken them out to karaoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I said it, karaoke. Who wants to sing with Sherlock?


	9. The Ancient Art of Karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To help out friends old and new John and Sherlock agreed to go on a double date. Molly has managed to surprise both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank GeekishChic for suggesting Karaoke, providing the location, and for choosing one of the songs. You are my Consulting Singer and I am grateful.
> 
> madamegoethe - as always you are just glorious and you help so much, thanks for the free Brit-pick and the endless commentary. Lovin' it.

 

 

The bar was wider than the average pub so that the stage was easily viewed by everyone, even those who had taken up the small private booths set higher up against the far wall. Molly had chosen a table on the floor and she was just beaming. Janine waved at John and Sherlock who were threading their way slowly towards them, John pulling an extremely reluctant Sherlock along with him, “Hi Molly, Janine. Wow, what a surprise.” John was friendly and passably happy sounding.

Sherlock was scowling and Janine mimicked it until he stopped. John tugged Sherlock’s arm until the detective sat slowly down and put his arm around John’s shoulder, still looking forbidding, “Ladies.” was all he said.

“How are the children of the night Sherl? Still making beautiful music?” asked Janine innocently. John’s shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter and Molly looked confused as did Sherlock, “Never mind. You look very pretty tonight Sherl.”

“You look tolerable Janine. I suppose there’s only so much a PA can do with limited after-work time.” Molly looked horrified at Sherlock’s comment but Janine just fluffed her hair again.

“You noticed! Yeah I worked late, I almost couldn’t make it but knowing I’d be seeing your shining face made all the effort worthwhile.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared at the bar while Janine grinned at him and gave John a cheeky wink while Molly flushed even harder.

“You know each other well then?” asked Molly timidly looking back and forth between Janine and Sherlock. John recognized the look on Molly’s face. He wore it often. Poor Molly was unsure of her attractiveness when compared to a rival as gorgeous as Sherlock.

“I only just met Sherlock. Mary told me to treat him like he’s five but I realized right away you actually need to treat him like he’s got PMS.” Sherlock was trying not to smile but failing, just a bit. John was laughing and Janine winked at him again. “Seriously, if I’d ever wanted children I’d have Sherlock. That way I’d have a baby for years.”

John was laughing loudly now and Sherlock’s grimmest scowl did nothing to dent Janine’s good humor. He waved the server over and bought a round of drinks for everyone, even Sherlock, who wasn’t allowed to choose what he was given. Whatever it was made his whole face wrinkle up as he gasped for air, “No questions Sherlock. We’re having fun tonight. I hope you can sing. Or can’t. Either way it’ll be great.”

“That’s what I thought!” chirped Molly happily, “I didn’t want to do anything work related, or science-related. I thought this would be a great way to get to know one another.” Molly flushed heavily when she realized that the only stranger there was Janine, and the only person Janine wanted to know was Molly. 

Janine leered, just a tiny bit, but then patted Molly’s hand in a friendly fashion. “If I don’t drive you away with my singing voice I’d say we have a great shot. What about you John? Can you sing?”

John shrugged and had a large drink, “It depends on how much alcohol I can get in me. Do I have to sing a lot?”

“One song each, swear.” Molly promised, “I didn’t expect you to stay actually. I thought Sherlock would just leave.”

“Can I?” Sherlock started to stand but John’s hand was at the ready and he pushed Sherlock back into his chair and settled his half-empty glass into his hands, “Not that I want to, of course. I can sing, if anyone is interested. I had some opportunities….while I was away.”

Sherlock didn’t look at John and John didn’t look at Sherlock. There were still some rough feelings concerning Sherlock’s long absence. Sherlock had told John much but not everything. There was too much, and a lot of the time John couldn’t handle learning how Sherlock had existed the entire time he’d been faking his death. Molly looked sombre and Janine realized there was some kind of unspoken story here. “Where did you go?”

“Purgatory.” was all Sherlock said, his fingers gripping John’s tightly. “That’s where you go when you kill yourself.”

Janine’s mouth dropped open and John was finding it hard to breathe. Molly saved the evening, “Sherlock gave up everything to save the people he cared most about. He had to go into hiding for over two years. John was…well John didn’t deal very well with thinking that Sherlock had actually died.” Molly looked at Sherlock, “Neither of them did very well apart. It’s better when they’re together.”

Janine was looking at both of them sitting there tense and uncomfortable, “That the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard! You really did that Sherl? Faked your death to save your friends?” Sherlock nodded and wouldn’t look at her. John could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him and made himself turn to look at his lover, “God, look at the two of you. Wow, this is one for the ages isn’t it.”

“Round of drinks?” said John tersely. Janine flashed a flirtatious grin at the server, bringing them right over. Everyone got another round of the mystery blend, choking and gasping as they tossed it down. John appreciated the deep burn of alcohol. He’d need it just to make himself get up on the stage to sing. In fact John just waved the server over again and got another round for everyone.

Singers were already gathering. There seemed to be lots of happy chattering going on but as far as John was concerned he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to even contemplate going on the stage. Sherlock seemed to agree with him, calling the server over yet again for a round of less toxic but still alcoholic drinks. “Nervous Sherl?” teased Janine.

“No. I am unsure of the selection. My repertoire for contemporary music is limited. There is perhaps one area I might be able to venture. Excuse me.” Sherlock leaned over and pecked John on the cheek before making his way to the stage where everyone seemed to be going through their choices. John wasn’t sure how it worked but he supposed he’d find out soon enough.

“So, Janine, what do you do for work?” John didn’t really know how to begin a conversation between a woman who was so nervous she was shredding her napkin and another woman he didn’t even know and had no plans to bed.

“I guess you could call me a personal assistant. I can’t actually say much about my job except that there are a lot of long hours, a very irregular schedule, and I have to wear a lot of hats. Not literal hats, you get that, right?” Janine was smiling warmly back and forth between John and Molly.

Molly was nodding with understanding, “Oh my yes, the hours. I don’t think I’ve ever kept inside my salaried hours. I practically live at the morgue.” Molly flushed heavily as she always did when she spoke of her work. It disturbed most people deeply that someone as skittish and pretty as Molly was an astute and competent pathologist.

John saw an opportunity, “Well you’re one of the best Molly, of course they’re going to keep you working as much as they can. After all, Sherlock Holmes doesn’t work with just anyone.”

“Indeed Molly.” said Sherlock who had made his way back again, his one minute perusal apparently being sufficient. “You are the least annoying person at the morgue, and you let me have first pick of the anonymous body-parts. You also save all the unusual deformities for me. That can never be appreciated enough.”

“Yes Molly, thanks for the monstrous appendages in my fridge.” joked John gently causing Molly to blush and laugh at the same time. Sherlock was smiling genially at her, for once not revealing all her secrets in an unforgiving exposé .

“You give Sherlock body parts? Was that what you were doing when we met?” Janine seemed entertained by the entire idea, and her reaction made Molly blush even harder as she was openly admired.

“No. Um. I was actually taking them back but then I didn’t have to so um…yes?” Janine seemed to have no trouble understanding Molly and just gave the shy young woman a friendly pat on the hand.

“That’s so cool. If I ever need to get rid of a body I know just who to ask.” Sherlock then went into a long detailed explanation of how difficult it would be do so without being caught, naming off several of the typical errors made by murderers that resulted in Sherlock having a very successful case record. Janine was shaking her head by the time he was winding down, “You are just starved for attention aren’t you. Younger brother, right?”

John laughed outright. Janine was fantastic. He decided he liked her right then and there as Sherlock sat unspeaking. Molly looked up at Janine, “Have you met his brother? He’s a bit frightening actually. I’m glad he doesn’t speak to me often.”

“Why does my brother speak to you Molly?” asked Sherlock sharply. He was staring hard at Molly who wilted back into her chair. Janine threw a used straw at Sherlock’s head to make him back off.

“Oh, well he never says much. He mostly pops by whenever you’re being, um, well, extremely you, and he just, well, he just stops in to see that I’m alright.” Molly was biting her bottom lip. John was a bit surprised. Mycroft took time out of his extremely busy schedule to make sure Molly was alright after being lashed by Sherlock’s acid tongue? It rarely happened anymore except when Sherlock was stymied by a detail of a case. It wasn’t personal even if his words stung bitterly, Sherlock exploded at anyone within range. He couldn’t seem to stop his mouth from spitting out observations, no matter how unflattering. The truth was the truth and Sherlock was filled with so much truth it kept escaping without regard to the damage it might cause.

Janine fished out an ice cube from her drink and threw it at Sherlock, “Jerk! Play nice from now on or I’m going to decide you need a wedgie.” Molly squeaked, flushed again and excused herself to the ladies. Janine gave Molly a huge warm smile as she left the table.

Sherlock glowered at Janine as he picked the ice-cube out of his hair, “Miss Brook, if you think physical altercations with me will make me change my ways then I will have to say you are in for a great deal of disappointment in your life.”

“You were home-schooled weren’t you, grammar school after too I bet.” mused Janine thoughtfully, completely ignoring Sherlock’s comment. “Never spent a minute in the play-ground, am I right?”

John loved Janine. She was brilliant. She had Sherlock figured out and she STILL liked him. “Why does that matter?” asked Sherlock, curious despite himself.

“Oh, no reason. What flavor of chewing-gum do you like?” Janine was smiling charmingly at Sherlock, her eyes steady as she looked right at him. John was biting back another laugh. Sherlock looked wary.

“I’ve never had any. I have no preference I suppose.” Sherlock was clearly curious. Janine glanced towards the bathrooms, Molly was still gone.

“Right then, let’s just lay it out, alright. I like Molly. She’s a sweet little thing and you’re a big stroppy baby. Stop being mean to her or I’m going to treat you like one of my little cousins and stick gum in your hair. It won’t hurt, it takes forever to get out and you look vain enough to put a peacock to shame. Play nice or risk your pretty curls Sherl. You know how to be sweet; I’ve seen you do it.” Janine was still smiling warmly.

“You have not! When!?” Sherlock was entirely ignoring the threat which John had privately decided was pure genius. 

“At the hospital. You were all trembly and clingy, like a wee kitten. A cute fussy kitty that wasn’t happy until John came back to rub your little tum tum.” Sherlock made an outraged sound but Janine didn’t stop, “And then when you introduced me to Molly you were all syrupy and gooey inside, just like one of those candy eggs with the sticky filling. I just wanted to pinch your cheek. That’s why I kicked your ankle, to get your head out of the clouds so I could reach your cheek.” Janine leaned over the small table and did exactly that leaving a small reddened patch behind. John couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing once again as Sherlock’s face settled back into a sour glare. “Or when Mad Mary broke your bow, I almost cried with you. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you nearly burst into tears.”

“I did nothing of the sort! I was shocked but NOT teary!” Sherlock was trying to be outraged but John couldn’t stop laughing and Sherlock was beginning to smile against his will. Sherlock had almost never been joshed before; John was really the only other person Sherlock ever laughed with.

“Whatever, tear-duct, anyway here comes Molly. How about shutting it with the shop-talk? No working right now, let’s have some fun, get a bit drunk, or well, drunker, and sing. I’ll even go first, yeah?” Janine smiled warmly at Molly who sat herself down, and on cue, blushed once again.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock wanted to go home still. He was anxious to have some intimate time with John. Instead they were trapped in a questionable pub and expected to perform like trained monkeys. Sherlock looked over the musical selection briefly. He didn’t have much musical experience but there had been some notable occasions when he’d been required to sing. He wasn’t planning on winning, or scoring points, or whatever the motivation was for such a diversion. Suddenly Sherlock was curious. He’d heard John hum around the house many times, sometimes even singing almost inaudibly along with the radio or the television when a snippet of music caught him. Sherlock realized this was a new piece of information that was becoming available. Right then and there Sherlock decided Molly had made a great choice for their group night out. Choosing quickly from the few songs he did know Sherlock sat back down.

John seemed to be enjoying himself. Sherlock was annoyed by Janine’s insistence that he had wept but she was making John laugh and that was never a bad thing. Sherlock decided he did like Janine, she was tolerable. By the time Molly returned John was in a very good mood, his small hand resting reassuringly in his much larger one. Sherlock felt warm inside at John’s easy displays of affection. They were never dramatic, instead it was like John was simply comfortable holding Sherlock’s hand or bumping their shoulders together when something was particularly enjoyable.

Sherlock listened to the singers who had begun. He only paid partial attention to them, most were creditable performers, others definitely not so but it all seemed to be for fun. Sherlock wasn’t very experienced with having fun, except with John who seemed to take great joy in all manner of things, forcing Sherlock to enjoy them too no matter what his initial opinions had been. He’d never admit to John how intensely Sherlock now followed Doctor Who or how he’d sneakily read all five of those hitchhiking books, pinching them from John’s collection one volume at a time. John was fun to be with, anyone who had spent time with him could tell you that, and John seemed intent on making Sherlock experience every sort of fun there was to be had. With a resigned sigh Sherlock settled in a bit closer to his diminutive lover and braced himself for a night out.

As promised Janine went first. Everyone agreed that each round of song be pre-toasted with a randomly chosen shot from the bar. The ones they’d received were pink and creamy and had made vapors rise from the back of Sherlock’s throat after he tossed it back. Janine wobbled up to the stage and did a fair rendition of some kind of flirtatious pop song Sherlock had never heard. It seemed to go over well with Molly who blushed and clapped and blushed again as Janine returned.

When the pathologist went up Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to hear her clear steady voice belt out some kind of romantic number. For all Molly’s normal starts and stutters when she sang she was strong and powerful, her voice sweet and filled with nuance. He was impressed and applauded her as enthusiastically as everyone else when she returned. Janine was completely wowed and kissed Molly the second she sat down, both women pulling apart in shocked surprise before giggling and blushing together. Janine looked star-struck, exactly the expression Molly had on her face.

“Shots.” demanded John and Sherlock realized he was preparing to go on. This would be very interesting. Sherlock was intently curious to hear what his lover sounded like, Molly had been a surprise. Sherlock kissed him softly first before signaling their server who had been waiting. A couple of minutes later all four of them were tossing back something layered that came with sprinkles on top. It was almost too sweet, even for Sherlock but John just cleared his throat, pecked Sherlock on the cheek one more time and marched himself over to the stage.

Everyone else had chosen pop songs filled with high-tech instrumentation but when John got up he had spoken to the man behind the counter and suddenly the pub was filled with a smooth sensuous beat of a drum and bass. John began to sing and Sherlock forgot to breathe. John’s singing voice was astounding. Sherlock could never have imagined his lover had a talent like this hidden away and suddenly Sherlock felt hot from head to toe. He was flushed, his heart in his eyes, all his everything in his eyes as John sang right to him. John was amazing.

You can't imagine the way I feel  
When we're close enough to kiss  
I been around for a little while  
Never found anything like this

You take me high as an airplane  
With your smile shining bright like the sun  
Said you keep buzzing around my way  
I can tell that you are the one

Honey bee  
Why are you so sweet to me?  
I cannot see  
Anything but my honey bee

I like the way that we intersect  
In our own little paradise  
I like the way that you read my head  
I don't have to tell you twice

Love is the way that you make me feel  
And it's just what I need the most  
What could be better than you and me  
Who knew heaven was so close?

Honey bee  
I love the way you hugging me  
Nothing is as sweet  
As the honey from my honey bee

Who can know your love comes if we take it slow  
And I like the way your honey flows  
And then we'll treasure all of the years we know  
We will treasure love

Honey bee  
Don't you ever fly from me

The applause after John finished was thunderous. Sherlock was on his feet and clapping as hard as he could, overwhelmed with love and pride. He hugged John tight as soon as the soldier got close and he could hear sentimental sounds coming from tables all around them as people witnessed Sherlock’s reaction. John was beaming and Sherlock had to discretely wipe a tear from his eye and hope Janine didn’t notice. “John, that was incredible.” said Sherlock sincerely. John’s smile couldn’t get any bigger but it tried.

Janine and Molly were blathering on appreciatively but Sherlock couldn’t hear them. He was too occupied in trying to eat John alive. How did he ever luck into meeting the incredible, ever surprising, and oh so marvelous Doctor John Watson, soldier, detective, doctor and apparently, record-studio worthy singer? If Sherlock could have gotten away with it he would have whisked John away back to their flat right at that second. He couldn’t. His turn was coming soon. “I’m glad you liked it Sherlock.”

Sherlock more than liked it but telling John how much he liked it would involve the use of one very special word that Sherlock was saving up. He wasn’t going to just blurt it out for the first time in a pub! This admission needed to be private the first time. Sherlock briefly considered changing his song choice but then decided to stick with it. He didn’t know so many songs that he could manage. His range obviously wasn’t up to John’s quality but he had some skill. While he had been gone Sherlock had gone undercover as many things, had to learn a lot of different skills very quickly. Some of the work had unexpected side-benefits and tonight he would use one of those advantages. He’d never performed on stage before but he had worked with some people who knew what it was all about and that’s when Sherlock had learned about rock music. Kissing John one last time Sherlock called for their fourth and final shot. Time to sing.

 

* * *

 

John was feeling more than a bit tipsy by the time he got to the stage and that was perfect. He’d need to cut loose to get this song done right and alcohol had done its job right. John was very pleased with the pure amazement on Sherlock’s face, he was satisfied that he’d for once managed to keep something a secret from Sherlock. Of course, John only ever sang around the flat when absolutely no one else was around, including Mrs. Hudson, and he hadn’t sung in front of a crowd since his army days. 

There were lots of boring nights in the military and the soldiers found as many ways as they could to entertain themselves. Singing was easy because it required nothing but what you brought with you. John had begun as an indifferent singer but had been coached here and there by different people he’d met until he’d learned how to use his natural talents to their best advantage. Knowing this particular song was pure coincidence though, and finding it available at this bar was too good an opportunity to pass up. John gave his love song every ounce of passion he had and reaped the rewards as he watched Sherlock wear his heart on his sleeve for anyone to see. John was sure Sherlock felt deeply for him and the spark of hope inside him burned hotter than ever. Love between them was not so out of reach then and John could not stop smiling.

Sherlock had kissed him then and John’s entire brain blanked out. He was being consumed, like Sherlock was trying to bind their souls together with this single embrace and John oh so willingly returned the sentiment. By the time the kiss ended both men were giddy and still so happy. John registered that Molly and Janine were saying something but all he could see was that Sherlock’s eyes were slightly pink and welling with happiness. Leaning forward just a bit John provided his lover with as much privacy as he could manage disguised as a kiss so Sherlock could wipe his eyes quickly. “I’m glad you liked it.” he said instead.

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He seemed to be struggling to express his feelings in some way. John waited with bated breath, wondering if this was the moment he had thought would be private but when Sherlock opened his mouth he did so only to call the server over. John’s smile was undented. He really would prefer to keep such things between themselves, and decided he was going to tell Sherlock as soon as they got home. When their shots arrived Sherlock tosses his back with alacrity, gave John a deep and searing kiss then strode to the stage.

John loved Sherlock’s voice. When Sherlock spoke of even the most ordinary things everything came to life. Each perfect syllable that passed his lips was enunciated and clear, each word he used was chosen with care, and the rolling timbre of his baritone never ceased to make John shiver a bit. If John could do nothing else he would choose to spend every day doing nothing but listening to Sherlock speak.

Sherlock got to the microphone and owned the room the second he looked out at the audience. He looked wild, tousled, and utterly desirable. More than a few of the people who gazed back at him had wistful consideration on their face. Sherlock spoke to the man behind the counter softly and with a nod suddenly the lighting changed to a more colorful array of beams that made the stage suddenly seem greater than it was. Sherlock stepped up to the microphone and completely blind-sided John when the selection began. Sherlock had opted to sing a song by a group John would have been willing to bet Sherlock had no idea existed yet there he was, cadence and accent absolutely perfect. If it weren’t for the deep timbre of his voice and the fact that he was right in front of John he might never have known the original artist wasn’t performing live. Mouth hanging open John simply stared in amazement.

A million miles away  
Your signal in the distance.  
To whom it may concern.  
I think I lost my way.  
Getting good at starting over.  
Every time that i return.

Learning to walk again.  
I believe I've waited long enough.  
Where do I begin?  
Learning to talk again.  
Can't you see I've waited long enough?  
Where do I begin?

Do you remember the days.  
We built these paper mountains.  
Then sat and watched them burn.  
I think I found my place.  
Can't you feel it growing stronger.  
Little conquerors.

Learning to walk again.  
I believe I've waited long enough.  
Where do I begin?  
Learning to talk again.  
I believe I've waited long enough.  
Where do I begin?

Now!  
For the very first time.  
Don't you pay no mind.  
Set me free, again.  
To keep alive, a moment at a time.  
That's still inside, a whisper to a riot.  
The sacrifice, the knowing to survive.  
The first decline, another state of mind.  
I'm on my knees, I'm praying for a sign.  
Forever, whenever, I never wanna die.  
I never wanna die.  
I never wanna die.  
I'm on my knees, I never wanna die.  
I'm dancing on my grave.  
I'm running through the fire.  
Forever, whenever.  
I never wanna die.  
I never wanna leave.  
I'll never say goodbye.  
Forever, Whenever.  
Forever, Whenever.

Learning to walk again.  
I believe I've waited long enough.  
Where do I begin?  
Learning to talk again.  
Can't you see I've waited long enough?  
Where do I begin?

Learning to walk again.  
I believe I've waited long enough.

By the end of the song people in the crowd were singing along, the passion with which Sherlock had delivered each verse and phrase completely taking sweeping everyone up in a glorious chorus. Dozens of throats contributed and it was the most amazing sensation to be surrounded but the vibration of surround sound harmony.

John had no idea how he moved, he wasn’t conscious of taking steps, of pushing past the people who had crowded onto the tiny dance area to sing their hearts out and move along with their loved ones as Sherlock’s rendition completely stole the night. By the very last word John was on the stage, Sherlock roughly shoving the microphone back into the stand to grab John up for a passionate and mutually heartfelt kiss. The cheer that accompanied it was resounding and Sherlock couldn’t keep it inside any longer, “I love you!” he whispered, every piece of his heart infused into his declaration.

There was silence in the pub. The microphone was still on and absolutely everyone had heard. The screams of sentimental delight eclipsed the previous cheer as John threw himself back into Sherlock’s arms with a muffled “I nuff oo too” as they kissed desperately in front of uncounted strangers, Molly and Janine. 

John was so happy he didn’t know what to do with himself. Here he had only had the faintest of hopes that he might be able to someday convince Sherlock that declaring his feelings, even if it wasn’t love, was enough and now Sherlock had beat John to the punch and told him first! John was so full of happiness he wasn’t sure if he could deal with one more good thing right then, he was verging on overload as it was.

The young man helpfully spun up a popular song to distract everyone as John and Sherlock broke apart and made their way back to their table, both men wearing the hugest of goofy smiles, their hands tightly clasped together. John once again completely failed to take in anyone around them, totally focused on the bright gleam in Sherlock’s beautiful eyes, and how perfect the entire universe was right then.

They were the most popular table in the pub after that. Drinks came their way until everything was a blur. People kept singing but it was all a drunken haze after a while. John vaguely participated in a discussion between Janine and Sherlock about another double-date in the very near future, both of them declaring the other a good, good friend. Molly tittered and blushed before boldly leaning in to catch Janine in a rather steamy snog and John decided they really needed to get home.

The bartender was kind enough to arrange a taxi for them. Spilling into the street the two couples said farewell before pouring themselves into two separate vehicles and ending the night. John clutched at Sherlock’s hand, both men pushing themselves as far apart as they could get, knowing their drunken self-discipline would likely result in them being put out in the middle of who knows where. Some restraint now would get them to their goal that much quicker.

Baker Street had never been such a welcome sight and the cab driver was rewarded for their custom when both John and Sherlock paid him, neither paying attention to the transaction and both men including a tip. The driver tried to shout them back but they had the door open and shut before he could get his window down.

John chased Sherlock up the stairs. It was a bit of a trick because he was a little rubbery in the knees but he was swaying in perfect rhythm with Sherlock so it was working out well. He was going to take that piece of work right the fuck apart! This was going to be the night, the big night, the ultimate night!

Sherlock seemed to be of like mind, kicking off his shoes and throwing his coat to the floor before heading straight to his bedroom. John growled and ripped his own coat off, only making sure to bolt the door shut in case Mrs. Hudson or who knew who else decided to drop by. It happened! John wove his way to the room.

Sherlock was half naked already, his trousers long gone along with his socks and pants, if he’d been wearing any. John couldn’t see them, “Off!” demanded the tall thin man. Oh yes! John was behind that idea one hundred percent! Clawing his clothes off as quickly as he could John staggered the few steps he needed to take to get to the bed and fell onto Sherlock, “God yes.”

Sherlock’s body was lithe and hot, John fit perfectly against him. It felt a bit odd in the groin area, like something wasn’t quite right but John was hazily sure it would all work out. Sherlock tasted of alcohol and cigarettes. When had he had a smoke? John didn’t care; he just wanted to fuck this man until both of them couldn’t move another inch.

Sherlock pulled John forward as he fell back so John was sprawled on his narrow chest. John took the opportunity to pepper kisses up and down Sherlock’s swan-like neck, loving the flavor of his skin. John was so comfortable like this, Sherlock was pliant now, no longer rigidly writhing beneath him. In fact Sherlock’s arms began to slide down to fall lightly onto the mattress. John wasn’t sure if he should stop kissing or not. It felt really nice and Sherlock was so very warm. John felt like he was melting, collapsing slowly as his knees spread wide and he sagged down bonelessly on top of his still very virginal lover, both men now fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I don't own the music or the artists. I'm just a slavering fan.
> 
> John's song - please enjoy Maysa's version of "Honey Bee" Here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3076DoS_oTk
> 
> Sherlock's song - rock out with the Foo Fighters "Walk" right here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PkcfQtibmU&feature=kp


	10. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well the night was romantic and the evening didn't quite work out the way the boys had hoped BUT all in all it was good. Now for some nice relaxing personal time. What could possibly go wrong?

Sherlock wondered when he had almost drowned. He must have gotten blown up too. God. What case had they been working on? This hospital was the worst yet! It smelled like an alley. His head hurt. Clearly his ribs were broken because it was hard to breathe. Some stitches must be torn too because something wet was definitely trickling into his armpit. Oh fuck did Sherlock’s head hurt. He couldn’t even begin to open his eyes and just lay there wishing he wasn’t forbidden opiates because some morphine right then would have been lovely. After a moment of letting his broken ribs continue to wheeze air into him Sherlock did his best to break the seal on his eyes. They were crusty and firmly shut. He called for John but his mouth was fuzzy and dry, “HJzdooooon. Haaaaaalp.” Sherlock sounded like some kind of wounded animal. His throat felt raw and harsh.

Suddenly the heat left the room and his ribs were pain free and with surprise Sherlock took in a deep gasp of air that left him coughing, which made him intensely aware of his stomach and how unhappy it was with him and the rest of his body. Sherlock realized his ribs weren’t broken and that John must have been sleeping on him because he could clearly feel the man getting off the bed now and heard the hurried smack of bare feet on the floor. John was running. 

Sherlock’s already queasy stomach churned. John was in the bathroom and he hadn’t closed the door. In a trice Sherlock was kneeling in front of his wastepaper basket and joining John in a morning song about alcohol poisoning, the lack of water, and general harmonic communion about the dangers of getting pissed. They were loud and in grotesque accord with one another.

Finally it ended and when John flushed Sherlock crawled to the bathroom on trembling hands and knees. The tears that had run freely from his eyes during his ordeal had washed the sleep away so he could see again and it hurt. John was curled up around the toilet, hugging the base like he needed it to live. Sherlock crawled to the bathtub, attempting to climb into it but succeeding only in draping himself over the edge, content at least that if he got sick again that the cleanup would be simple. His head pounded with deafening regularity. He wondered if his desire to shower so desperately had some sort of throwback link to the earliest days of evolution when they’d first crawled out of the ocean. All he knew was he wanted to be covered in warm soothing water from head to toe. Floundering a bit Sherlock managed to pour the rest of himself into the bathtub and used his feet to get the water going while he lay on the bottom of the bath. It was as soothing as he had hoped.

John crawled over and with greater grace than Sherlock managed to get his shaking body directly under the spray. Eventually Sherlock had the heel of his left foot jammed in the drain so the tub was filling up with hot water. John just stood there miserably. Whenever the water threatened to overflow Sherlock let his foot float up a bit until the drain took care of the excess and he plugged it again. They kept it up until the water was tepid. John then used the normal plug and helped Sherlock sit up properly so John could soak in the tub with him, the smaller man leaning on the leaner one.

Sherlock pulled his arms around John, holding him securely to his chest. John’s body was very warm and he seemed to be floating a bit. Sherlock wanted his heat source as close as possible, “John?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to be sick again.”

There was much scrambling before Sherlock managed to slither out of the tub and skid in front of the toilet to be sick for the second time that morning. He could hear the tub draining in the background and when he was finished heaving he felt a warm damp flannel being wiped over his bare skin until all the new sweat had been cleaned away. “Let’s get you up.” John sounded shaky but his hand and arm were rock steady as he got Sherlock back on his feet, cleaning up everything as Sherlock washed up at the sink.

John put the kettle on as well and dealt with the mess in the bedroom while Sherlock sat slumped at the kitchen table. “John I can’t face Victor today. Call us in sick.” John wasn’t in the kitchen yet but Sherlock was reasonably sure he’d understood and would comply regardless. When John did return to the kitchen he was moving slowly, as if it were taking everything in him to remain upright. “How are you feeling?”

“Old.” John didn’t look very good. His skin had a grayish cast to it and he looked worn down and miserable. Sherlock was glad because John looked exactly how he felt and it was right that they should share things. John shut the kettle off before it whistled and made tea with great care. He accidentally stirred in one spoon too many of sugar into Sherlock’s cup but Sherlock didn’t say a word. He needed every grain in order to recuperate today. “I don’t want to watch Victor rub himself off on you today. Call us in sick.”

“I already asked you to do it. You can’t just pass it back.”

“I’ve already talked to you about asking me things when I’m not here. Don’t take it as read that I knew!” John was complaining but he was also getting his mobile out. Texting rapidly he sent off a message. “Phalen thought she was being so sly giving me her number.” John’s voice was scornful.

“She what!? WHEN?” Sherlock was furious. How DARE SHE??? Reaching over Sherlock made to delete the offensive number but John snatched it away.

“Stop. We have an inside now. Leave it be. They must really think they’re clever. I haven’t even told you about the shit I found on her laptop.” John turned to put on toast, ignoring the fact that Sherlock was expiring from curiosity and the left-overs of jealousy. “Sherlock it is plain as day that Phalen was brought in to keep me busy. They don’t think much of me intellectually but I saw enough in a few quick minutes of browsing yesterday to see that Victor is being set-up. I bet he did call you on purpose with some sort of hook-up in mind but he’s being screwed by his own people. Phalen is part of a group. I bet they’re tired of having all their hard work and profits being credited to that asshat! I don’t know if we should stop them or help them.”

Sherlock sat there and worked his way painfully through the information. He really wasn’t at his best just then. His head was still pounding but the pain receded with each sip of John’s perfect tea. Before they had their toast John fished out some paracetamols and portioned out two each. By the time they’d nibbled away one slice of dry toast each John’s phone chirped merrily. Phalen had texted back, “Will drop by with tablet updates in afternoon ;)”

“Hey look, now we’ve both been winked at. It’s a tie now.” Sherlock smiled at John’s weak joke. He still felt very uncomfortable with the attention this Phalen was paying HIS John, even if John knew she was a plant, a mole, a moll, a whatever it was that you called people who did this sort of thing for money. 

“John my head hurts and my stomach feels awful. Can we not talk about Victor Trevor or his painted harlot for a while?” John took Sherlock’s hand and led him to the sofa. Sherlock lay himself down and in a deliberate maneuver got John to lay on top of him, much as they had been just last night. “This feels nice.”

“Yeah.” said John who just closed his eyes and sagged limply, clearly still aching all over and feeling as poorly as Sherlock. Their bodies were warm together and Sherlock found great comfort in the weight of John’s small body on his. He was surprisingly heavy, sturdy and layered with muscle. John’s head was tucked neatly under Sherlock’s chin and his short hair was tickling the detective a bit. They were both wearing only bathrobes and Sherlock was acutely aware of each patch of bared skin that pressed against his.

John’s pocket buzzed. His mobile was vibrating. “I should have just shut it off.” moaned the doctor gruffly. Sherlock enjoyed the retrieval process since John accidentally gave him a rather good groping during his attempt to reach his mobile. “Fuck. Janine and Molly are coming here.”

“Why!” whined Sherlock. He was in no fit state to receive visitors and the ladies couldn’t possibly be in any condition to be getting around! John was already getting off of him which left Sherlock feeling frustrated and contrary.

“Janine apparently knows how to make some kind of miracle recovery soup. She’s making it for us.” Well. Recovery soup sounded interesting. Sherlock knew there were many vegetables and herbs that worked well in tandem with one another to provide more than just nourishment. Her soup couldn’t be worse than Mary’s muffins and if Sherlock got ill again well, then it was her fault for trying to feed him.

John was suddenly laying right back on top of Sherlock and kissing the life out of him. Happily Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, managing to hold his head as well to keep the soldier as close as possible. When Sherlock’s head was swimming with sensation John pulled back and kissed him between his eyes before saying, “I love you.”

Sherlock felt his heart give one huge pulse and then he was filled with such light and happiness he wasn’t completely sure how to react! How had he managed to forget such an incredible milestone already? Sherlock kissed John back, making it as tender and passionate as he could before pulling away with a soft smile, “I love you John.” The expression on John’s face was worth any amount of suffering. Sherlock wanted to see that exact look in John’s eyes for the rest of their lives.

They got up to dress then, not speaking but then, not really needing to. They were at ease with their silence, simply choosing clothes that were comfortable before returning to the front to prepare for their guests. Sherlock solicitously tucked away anything disturbing while John cleaned up as many surfaces as possible. Both men were feeling slightly better, and were finishing their second cups of tea by the time Mrs. Hudson called about their visitors.

Janine looked like hell while Molly merely seemed slightly pale and subdued. Both women had a bag of groceries each. The taller woman looked scathingly at Sherlock, “What the fuck Sherlock? Why do you look like you’re ready for a photo-shoot when everyone else looks decently like they’ve been hit by a truck?”

Sherlock shrugged an elegant shoulder, his dark suit accenting the lean lines of his long body perfectly, the snow white shirt making his pale skin seem to almost shine when framed by his raven curls. “I’m an excellent actor.”

“Vampire.” decided Janine sententiously. “Only you suck the intellect out of people making yourself smarter and everyone else dumber. How’s that working out for you?”

“Clearly I’m starving to death. Are you cooking today or shall I call in some take-away to tide us over until you move toward the kitchen?” Sherlock pointed to the kitchen.

“I’m cooking. This is my gran’s recipe. I don’t just make this for anyone.” Janine moved to the kitchen while John and Molly sank gratefully onto the sofa. “You can help Sherl, gran always said I should pass it on to a girl who could use it. John looks like he knows how to work his elbow; you might find this handy sometime.”

Janine ignored John flipping her the bird and left him and Molly choosing a DVD to recuperate to. Sherlock brought out two tall glasses of iced water, kissing John on the cheek while an abnormally relaxed Molly sank slowly into Sherlock’s chair. John took advantage of her move to stretch out on the sofa. Sherlock came back in and draped a small blanket over his hips and kissed him again.

Janine seemed perfectly willing to use a single knife and small plate to prepare absolutely everything. “Gran lived in poverty most of her life, she had next to nothing. She never got over her old habits even when she married well and ended her days surrounded by luxuries. She taught all her kids everything she knew and her grandkids too. She’d always do this, make everything on a small plate because when she was growing up that’s all she had, one small plate and a paring knife. What she could do with those though!”

Janine had gone through the markets and snapped up a bizarre assortment of vegetables, some sea-food and pork. There was fresh garlic and ginger as well and as Sherlock watches she transformed everything into a clear flavorful soup with tiny vegetables and filled dumplings floating around in it. She let him sample the flavor profile as she worked the soup to completion. “Impressive Janine. You are an artist.”

“If you can say knowing how to make exactly one thing an art, thank you,” Janine stirred carefully, “I don’t remember how to make anything else. Gran died when I was very small. She made this a lot though for big family events so I remembered. I don’t make it often, but then, I rarely have people to share it with.”

Sherlock liked Janine. Clearly she was as alone in the world as he and John had been. Sherlock had never wished another couple well before but suddenly he hoped that Janine and Molly had found a fit with one another and that neither would have to go through the convolutions his relationship had endured. “Do you not spend time with your family anymore?”

Janine was very quiet. “Most of them are gone now. The ones I knew anyway. I had a brother. He’s gone.” Sherlock was a still as Janine. He was thinking of her name.

“Janine?” She was stirring slowly, her head bent and her shoulders curled in.

“He was real Sherlock. He was a real man and he wasn’t what they said he was on all those reports. That was my brother, well, my half-brother. He was an actor, not a great one but he got by on voice-over work and the like. His face wasn’t known and everything he ever did vanished after he started his new job.” Sherlock felt sick again but it had nothing to do with being hung over. “It’s not your fault Sherlock, it wasn’t his either. He was so excited to get this big contract. He was paid an insane amount. He couldn’t talk about it, said it would take years to finish the work but that we’d have enough to retire on when he was done. I wasn’t supposed to know but he told me because he knew I’d worry if he just vanished.”

“Your brother was James Moriarty.” Sherlock’s voice was hollow and suddenly he understood why John had felt so betrayed when Sherlock had come back to life. To know someone, to trust that what you knew about them was real and then discovered it was nothing of the sort. The blow was so great that Sherlock couldn’t stand. The man who had died in front of him had been an innocent. A puppet. He sank into a kitchen chair.

Janine turned the cooker off and sat in front of him, “I never intended to see you or John. Why would I? My brother is dead and it was because of you but you didn’t do it. The man who really is Moriarty did that. My brother killed himself for some man I’ve never seen to trouble another man I didn’t even know. Meeting Mary was just coincidence. Me breaking up with my ex and needing a place to crash was coincidence. Mary dating John and being a freak about it, well, what does that mean?”

“It means the real James Moriarty is still alive.”

 

* * *

John came back to awareness slowly. He was incredibly uncomfortable. His hips were aching and the mattress he was sleeping on clearly had issues. His pillow was missing too; he could feel the slats under the bedding pressed to his cheek. John was pretty sure he was stuck to the bed, he’d been drooling pretty heavily and he could feel the saliva pooling under his face. John tried to move and that’s when his stomach sent him a two second warning. Reality came crashing back. He was lying on top of Sherlock and he had one more second to make it to the bathroom or risk getting sick on his lover. John just made it.

Sherlock was fucking loud. John could hear him retching in the bedroom, hoping desperately that he wasn’t getting ill on the bed or the carpet. Each heave triggered another one in John until he had been ill for at least three times longer than he would have managed alone. He couldn’t even stay upright after. The porcelain was cold and soothed him as he hugged it tight.

It wasn’t until they were finally finishing their tea that John felt able to process things. When he found that they were to have guests the night previous seemed very urgent to John because he still hadn’t said one thing properly. Nearly throwing himself back on top of Sherlock John said the words clearly, “I love you.”

Sherlock’s reaction was more than a little gratifying, and when he responded John though his insides would explode with the sheer volume of happiness he was feeling. When Janine and Molly arrived John listened to Janine banter easily with Sherlock and watched them disappear into the kitchen together. He was more than happy to sit with Molly and watch Firefly, a series that Molly was a surprising fan of. “It’s too bad it was only one season long, it was so good.” she said wistfully. “I watched it the wrong way round the first time, I saw the movie first.”

“Oh that’s a bit of bad luck. Well, we’ll start with the first DVD and see how far we get, alright?” Molly nodded agreeably and then decided to sit in Sherlock’s chair which had a better view of the telly. Sherlock had brought them water already and when he put a small blanket on John the doctor felt warmed by more than its wooly softness.

When Sherlock went back into the kitchen Molly was quiet for a minute, “He’s very different now.”

John knew what she meant. Sherlock had changed so much in the last few years. Only a few people had known him before he had met John, Molly was one of them. She had witnessed their very first interactions right there in the morgue with Mike. “He’s more the same than people realize, not many people get the chance to really know him.”

“I always thought that too. Of course, he certainly doesn’t make it easy.” Molly would definitely know. She had seen Sherlock through the worst of his bad behaviors, but unlike Mrs. Hudson to whom Sherlock was the most pleasant to; Molly had suffered his bitter lashes a thousand times. John admired Molly for her endurance. She stayed sweet and helpful; her outlook on life relentlessly optimistic despite everything about it that would depress anyone else, Molly lived in her own cheery little world. 

“Janine certainly has a way with him though.” said John, he was a bit distracted because he was trying to operate the remote and navigate the menu system of the DVD which he was never good at. Molly took it away from him and kindly got the first episode going. “Thanks.”

“She’s very different.” said Molly and her whole head turned red as she blushed furiously. It seemed to be a bit painful too and John realized that with a hangover, having your head fill with all the extra blood in your body probably didn’t feel so wonderful. He laughed softly and it hurt. “She’s very, um, she’s very straight-forward.”

They watched the episode for a while. John wasn’t really ready to talk about relationships with Molly Hooper. What would they discuss? The wonders of same-sex love after their life-time of heterosexual choices? Maybe they could blog about it together. John decided he needed more tea, “I wonder what they’re doing in there. Want to check?” It had been a while now.

“Yeah alright.” Molly got herself up and with John they shuffled off to the kitchen. Sherlock and Janine were deep in conversation. Sherlock was sitting at the table.

They could hear Janine clearly now “… needing a place to crash was coincidence. Mary dating John and being a freak about it, well, what does that mean?”

Sherlock’s voice was devoid of emotion as he stated flatly, “It means the real James Moriarty is still alive.” John stopped cold and Molly gasped with absolute horror.

“Fucking Christ Sherlock! What do you mean Moriarty is alive! He’s dead. You saw him kill himself! He’s dead!” John wanted to be sick all over again. Not Moriarty! How could he have survived? John looked at Janine with sudden suspicion, “YOU! What do you know about Jim? How are you connected to him! WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

Sherlock was on his feet and restraining John before the soldier in him could dash upstairs for his gun. John would fucking KILL anyone who brought James Moriarty back into their lives! Not again! He wasn’t losing Sherlock to that madman again! “John, calm, listen to me. Janine doesn’t know Moriarty, her brother did. Her dead brother. John, remember the phone calls, the stolen voices?”

John froze and looked at Janine who was close to tears. Those poor people, all of them snatched from their lives like they were meaningless, heartlessly tormented and forced to do the bidding of an insane villain whose face they never saw. John thought he knew his foe; his image was branded into his mind. John searched Janine’s features and saw a hint here and there, “Half-sister, right?” She nodded and he felt sick for her. The man he had thought was James Moriarty was not.

“His name really was Richard Brook.” Janine explained the rest, getting up and completing her cooking almost restlessly, as if she couldn’t speak and keep her hands still at the same time. By the time she caught Molly and John up the soup was served and all four of them sat stiffly at the table. Molly looked devastated, staring down at her portion uncomprehendingly.

Sherlock looked at Janine, “He dated Molly. Moriarty needed to use her so your brother dated her. It seems you both have similar tastes.” Janine tentatively took Molly’s hand and Molly let her.

“I’m not surprised. We could have been twins in some ways. I can see how he would like Molly very much. It must have hurt him so to give you up.” Janine didn’t seem to know how to deal with the situation so she kept doing normal things and everyone followed along. They ate their soup silently, temporarily ignoring the elephant in the room.

“What do we do now?” asked John after their soup was finished. He felt loads better and silently thanked Janine’s grandmother for her cure.

“We need to let certain people know he’s still out there. I worked for so long to undo what he did and it turns out it was all for nothing John. Janine, who else knows you are Richard’s sister?”

“No one but you three now, Mum was forced to give him up for adoption, she wasn’t married at the time. I came along a couple of years later. Mum wasn’t close to the family after dad passed away, I was young and Richard lived with a foster-family. Mum got to see him whenever she had a chance but it wasn’t very often. We got on really well, I loved him. We kept in touch with each other but I don’t think anyone else ever bothered.”

“Is it recorded anywhere, your work, your CV, anywhere?” Sherlock pressed for more information.

Janine shook her head, “Mum didn’t even have her name on the birth certificate. Her mum wouldn’t allow it. They had her down as Jane Doe. Richard changed his last name to Brook when he turned eighteen, for me. He was a Doe all the way until then.” That unfortunate decision probably played a large part in Richard being chosen. How could Moriarty resist using a man whose name was the very joke he was playing on his opponent? John felt horrible for Janine and her late brother.

“Why did you tell us?” asked John. He felt hollow. The nightmare wasn’t over. James Moriarty had disappeared from sight, dead for all this time but now the specter could return to life as easily as Sherlock had. Perhaps he’d already done so. John was feeling anxious, all the stress from his many encounters against the psychopath finding new life when fed this fresh information. John discovered he was gripping the table hard, and that Sherlock’s hand was rubbing up and down his spine in measured strokes. “I’m alright. It’s all fine.”

“It’s not fucking fine John!” Sherlock was snarling with anger. His hand remained tender and soothing even though his voice was filled with rage, “We’ve been outplayed again. He’s out there somewhere and we’re even more clueless than we were before. We might never have known if not for Janine. If he comes back to finish us, we won’t be as unsuspecting as we would have been.”

Molly burst into tears and hid her face in her napkin. John was sitting right beside her and she threw herself into his arms and wept. “John! I didn’t want to do it, you know I didn’t. The longer it went on the worse it got and I couldn’t bear to see both of you be so miserable!” She pulled away from Janine and looked at her almost angrily, “You knew all this time, listened to us talk about what happened and acted like it was so sweet! Why me? What am I being used for this time?”

Janine was immediately upset and hurt. She stood up, outraged at the accusation that Molly was being used by her. Sherlock pulled her back into her seat, “That’s not what Molly means. She’s wondering if Moriarty has found a way to manipulate all of us already. He’s the master of it. If he knows about you Janine he could have easily arranged for you to be driven into our path. Molly has been invaluable to both of us. She is right to worry.”

John wished Sherlock could soften the bluntness sometimes but now was not one of them. You could not be overcautious when it came to Moriarty. “We’ve got to tell your brother.” John took out his mobile. Curse the Holmes and their foresight! Mycroft had given John a code phrase for exactly this, years ago. He wondered if it still worked. Texting his lover’s brother John just said, “I’m in the mood for apples.”

Two minutes later he received a reply, “We can pick some up on the way back from the airport. Same place, same time.” John showed Sherlock who sighed. “Well ladies, we’ll be picking up Mycroft in a few hours. You may as well get home and shower, maybe even pack a bag. Who knows with him.” John felt resigned to never having his own life now. He’d rather bunk down with Mycroft and endure his constant fight with Sherlock than try to live out in the open with James Moriarty potentially watching their every move. Molly looked wan but nodded.

Everyone was just sorting out shoes and coats when a tap came at the door. John groaned. It must be Phalen. Janine was standing next to it so she just opened it. Phalen was there as was Victor Trevor. Fantastic. John tried to keep the scowl from blooming on his face but couldn’t quite mask it before Janine and Molly saw it. Janine stepped close to Sherlock who leaned down and kissed her cheek softly, she kissed his in return. Molly hugged John and both women looked at one another before just saying good-day, not waiting for introductions as they took their leave.

Victor looked sour as he watched the two ladies leave the flat, “I guess last night was a good night….for someone. You’ve really changed since uni Sherlock.” Phalen was staring at Molly, some surprise on her face. John suddenly realized what the entire thing looked like. Victor must be thinking that John and Sherlock had spent the night with Molly and Janine!

“I don’t believe you knew me well enough in uni to know what I was like back then or how I am now Victor. What are you doing here? I told you I wasn’t working today.” Sherlock sounded scathing. John could see his lover still had a headache and Victor wasn’t winning any points by showing up uninvited.

“I’m paying you to work on my problem not fuck around with a couple of rentals!” snarled Victor and John stood right up. Sherlock was right behind the soldier.

“Don’t you ever dare say one fucking word about our friends! As a matter of fact Mr. Trevor, you haven’t paid us a dime yet so we’re not really costing you anything and even if we were you have no right to comment on what we do with OUR spare time!” John looked at Sherlock with stormy eyes, “Do you want to keep working on this case or no?”

“I didn’t want to work on this case to begin with John. It’s all up to you. Victor, if you want OUR help I suspect you will now need to pacify John. Let me warn you, once he’s gotten angry he’s very difficult to calm down again.” Indeed John was glowering at the much taller man, making it very clear that even though Victor seriously out-massed him, the small doctor was more than capable of making Victor require the services of his medical peers.

Phalen stepped in to gamely try to change the tone of the conversation. With a bright smile aimed squarely at John she attempted to reintroduce herself as an item of distraction. It completely failed to work on John who stared coldly at her and just stepped closer to Sherlock. Ignoring her John looked up at Victor. “Even if Sherlock were feeling well today which he isn’t we have an obligation to attend to later on and wouldn’t be able to work with you anyway. Sherlock, give them their tablet back. Victor. If we decide to continue helping you we’ll be in touch. Good day.”

Sherlock handed back the tablet without a word and sat himself down on the sofa, tuning everyone out rudely. John kept his smile to himself as he looked at the shocked pair in front of them. Phalen was still attempting to salvage some professionalism, “I’ll look forward to your call Doctor Watson.”

John nodded brusquely and showed them the door, glad to see their backs. He looked at his watch. If they were going to pick up Mycroft they’d need to get cleaned up and get going soon. Sherlock stood up and pulled John close, wrapping his arms tight around the doctor and holding on, “I’m not doing this alone this time John. This time we do this together. If Moriarty is out there you and I will face him together. He forced us apart too much already, I won’t do that again.”

They got dressed. Sherlock didn’t comment when John loaded his gun and tucked it onto himself. John didn’t say anything when Sherlock made sure the GPS function on their mobiles was activated and neither man said a word about apples. Once they were ready they left 221 B Baker Street and were unsurprised to find a long sleek black car waiting for them. It slid silently away from the curb, bringing them to Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG WHAT DID I JUST DO?


	11. Paradigm Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their old enemy threatens once more. There are few choices left for the couple if they want to remain safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV swapping is tightening up to make the pace of the story work better :D
> 
> I’ve taken massive liberties with one or two realities because I do what I want.

The airport was discrete, used only by Mycroft or others of his ilk. John and Sherlock had special passes to get them beyond the gate where an armed attendant scrutinized their badges closely. John kept them in his wallet so Sherlock wouldn’t throw them away. It was a hassle getting things replaced over and over again. The car drove right up to the glass doors and Mycroft emerged instantly, a nameless flunky carrying his baggage to stow in the trunk. As soon as Mycroft was in safely the vehicle began to move again and the privacy screen was engaged. When it clicked shut Mycroft turned to them both, “How?”

“Unknown. Doubtful he knows we’ve been tipped off but not impossible. We’ve made an acquaintance, one Janine Brook, half-sister to Richard Brook, the actual Richard Brook.” Sherlock was trying to sound cold and collected but he was anything but. His nerves were screaming with tension and the last thing he wanted was to be trapped in a moving vehicle with his brother.

Mycroft looked disturbed too, “His records were scrubbed impeccably clean then. My people found nothing.” Mycroft’s people would have looked thoroughly too. They would have found everything there was to find.

“Nothing they weren’t supposed to discover. You have a leak Mycroft.” John sounded as if it were obvious now. Moriarty was more than clever enough to plant someone deep inside Mycroft’s organization a long time ago. Someone would have been in place for years already. It could be anyone, even Anthea.

“This is not the place to discuss this. We need to get back to my club. Perhaps it’s a risk but I have more supporters there than possible enemies.” John stifled a groan. Only Mycroft’s office was worse than having to go to the Diogenes Club. John always stuck out like a sore thumb, half the time he was afraid to sit on the extra-posh furnishings.

The ride took an eternity in which none of the men spoke. Mycroft kept the cone of silence up until they were locked into his large private room. Even there he kept them quiet while he and Sherlock swept every nook and cranny for surveillance. Once they were satisfied Mycroft engaged some noise distorting devices and kept John and Sherlock close to him to discuss the matter, “I was under the rather firm impression that James Moriarty killed himself the same day Sherlock faked his death! You are telling me that not only did he not die but that he hasn’t been the man we had been watching?”

“Essentially yes.” said John looking more than a little frazzled. Moriarty had played some particularly cruel games with John.

Mycroft was silent for a long minute and exchanged a look with Sherlock who immediately shook his head, “No. We are not separating. John and I have already had this discussion, no matter what we stay together!”

Mycroft looked put out. “Mrs. Hudson has already been taken to a safe-house. Anthea arrived at 221 A exactly one minute after you left. We can only hope that my PA isn’t the traitor. Gregory Lestrade is being collected from across London. He will join us as soon as he can.”

Sherlock was feeling anxious. He couldn’t help it. The last time he’d played Moriarty’s game he’d nearly lost John. The stakes were almost incalculably higher now. Sherlock tried to stem the rising sense of panic but it would stop, wouldn’t slow. All he could do was envision scenario after scenario of Moriarty’s insane games where John was hurt in an endless variety of horrific ways. It couldn’t happen! Sherlock could not let it happen but how could he stop it? Their foe had no face and even if he did they could never be sure it was the real one! Suddenly every single part of their life became suspicious. Who could they trust? “What about Molly? Janine? Are you watching them?”

“As before Molly Hooper is under intense surveillance but will not be relocated. She was entirely overlooked the last time Moriarty was around however an extraction team is at the ready all around her. Miss Brook is also under surveillance; her presence cannot be discounted as sheer coincidence. Both women are as safe as I can make them without actually hiding them in a hole in the ground.” Mycroft was busy on his mobile for a moment and then sighed before sitting himself down, “Sherlock’s medical assessments are ready. I’ll have my personal physician brought in to consult.”

John nodded tersely. He hadn’t forgotten about Sherlock’s health. His problems came on so quickly that John couldn’t be too careful or monitor Sherlock too much. Whoever Mycroft had working for him was likely the best in several fields. John had no choice but to trust them though, he had no other options. He wondered if Mycroft would still let him sit in on the consultation now that he was back. John wouldn’t really be needed since Sherlock’s next of kin was right in front of him. Sherlock took the matter right out of John’s hands, “I want John with me.”

“Of course Sherlock, it will make everything easier if someone sensible were listening to what is being said. I’m sure I’ll receive all the information I require afterwards.” Mycroft read something off his mobile and then gave Sherlock a hard look, “Victor Trevor Sherlock? Really?”

“John wanted the case, not me. You can ask him.” Sherlock didn’t need to mention all the juicy advancements he’d been privy to, not even Mycroft could possibly have read those reports yet! “At any rate it seems that Victor is being sabotaged by his personnel. It’s so obvious that even John figured it out.” Sherlock knew he sounded insulting but the look he shot John was full of pride and admiration that his John had gleaned so much more information from Phalen than Victor Trevor had anticipated. John’s clumsiness operating a laptop didn’t equate to his inability to understand the data in front of him! John was always a surprise and once again Sherlock’s enemy had completely underestimated the potential of the very small and unassuming, hideous jumper wearing ex-army doctor. John looked about as threatening as a basketful of kittens. 

John just shrugged, “I thought the science stuff was interesting. Trevor is a bit of a dick.” and just like that the topic of Victor Trevor was temporarily shelved. Once Lestrade arrived they could begin cross-examining everything they knew collectively, to begin the arduous search for even a hint of Moriarty. John looked at Mycroft and asked curiously, “Sherlock wants a home-lab. How possible is that?”

It was a relatively safe topic to while the time away with and Sherlock was glad John had thought of it. Sherlock certainly enjoyed the thrust and parry of concessions that Mycroft was willing to undertake to refit 221 C into a small and robust research area, complete with proper storage for chemicals that weren’t old yoghurt containers or John’s RAMC mug. It was all theoretical though since Mycroft made no actual promises. Like Sherlock he avoided actually promising anything. Still, if the whim took him Mycroft could make the entire lab plan happen with only a minimum of fuss. There were advantages when your big brother had a minor position in the British Government.

Sherlock thoughtfully planned in a laundry room complete with card table and extra-large sink so that John and Mrs. Hudson could still enjoy the time they spent soaking the blood out of curtains or carpets, or spot cleaning various unspeakable things out of either Sherlock or John’s clothes because of whatever case they’d been on or, more likely, one of his experiments. Sherlock was being considerate, or giving it a try at least. He didn’t have much experience at it but for John, and to a lesser degree Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock would attempt it.

John looked at Mycroft and Sherlock in frustration, “This is all very well and fine but I feel a tad exposed here, yeah? So whenever Greg gets here I’m assuming we’re leaving. Where are we going that’s safer than here?”

“Home.” said the Holmes brothers in tandem. Mycroft raised and elegant eyebrow and Sherlock sniffed but kept his mouth shut to allow his brother to explain. For some reason everyone found Sherlock’s explanations difficult to follow. “Our family home contains only the most trusted of people, most have been with our family for generations. Any newcomer would be obvious and therefore a minimized threat. Until we can assess the threat adequately we can simply assume that every location and person has been compromised to some degree and take steps to continually reduce the avenues of information our foe has access to.”

“So it really isn’t paranoia if they’re actually out to get you.” muttered John who had once teased Sherlock about needing a tee-shirt that said that. Sherlock took John’s hand and squeezed it tight, not letting go no matter what kind of look Mycroft was giving him. John gave Sherlock comfort. It was easier to stay calm, to think clearly, when John was nearby. Holding John’s hand gave Sherlock the ability to breathe easy and to concentrate on the important facts. Sherlock stopped his fingers from roaming over the empty space on John’s ring finger, already seeking what hadn’t even been placed there. Sherlock knew what he needed to do. As soon as they had a moment of privacy Sherlock was going to ask, even if he wasn’t completely ready yet. They could get rings later.

Lestrade finally arrived, ushered to Mycroft’s office by a silent Diogenes attendant. Sherlock noted how intensely Mycroft and Lestrade looked at one another before the DI came to stand casually beside John. “You don’t have to pretend in front of us.” said Sherlock dryly and enjoyed the flush that suddenly colored his brother’s cheeks.

John was clearly surprised though when Lestrade went over to Mycroft and shrugged, “Well, how long did you think it would take before he noticed? We’ve been lucky so far.” Mycroft simply sighed, his blush only barely fading. “At least give me something for the effort!” and Sherlock had to look away when his brother leaned down to kiss his lover hello.

“Holy fucking shit no way!” said John with all the grace he could muster, “Lestrade? You’re seriously dating Mycroft Holmes?”

“Nope,” the DI waved his hand at the stunned men in the room. There was a solid gold band on it, identical to the one that already lived on Mycroft’s finger. John had assumed the DI had simply never taken off the band he’d worn for his ex-wife; actually, John hadn’t thought much of Lestrade’s wedding band at all. It hadn’t seemed important. Mycroft always wore two, his late grandfather’s and the decoy ring he used to stave off unwanted offers. 

Sherlock was entirely surprised. His brother had hidden an affair with Detective Inspector Lestrade and had sneakily gotten married to the man to boot! The silver-haired man looked over at the very displeased pair, “I asked Myc to keep it from everyone as much as possible, you know, for work. It doesn’t sit well with other coppers if they think you’ve got an advantage over them. Every case I solved would be suspect if they knew. It’ll come out eventually, but I’d appreciate it if you’d just act like nothing was different whenever we’re out in the world.”

John was just staring at Lestrade, an angry cloud brewing over the small soldier, “Does everyone lie to me automatically? Why does it seem that way? Is anything I know the truth? Lestrade! We’ve been going out for pints for years now. Not one hint! Not one fucking clue!” There was nowhere for John to go and Sherlock could see that his lover was on the verge of exploding into a rage. John got very upset when his delicate trust in people wavered. Sherlock understood Lestrade’s need for discretion but he was more inclined to sympathize with his John who could not deal with lies being fed to him, no matter the cause.

“I’ve told you lots about my relationship John. I just never let you know it was Myc every time is all.” John was clearly still upset but apparently Lestrade had made the correct comment. The anger was bleeding away from John’s body and he sagged into Sherlock who held him up eagerly. Now it was Lestrade’s turn to be surprised, “Really?”

“You are a terrible detective!” exclaimed Sherlock. “It’s been ages and not one of you at the Yard has noticed a thing!”

“Everyone thought you two have been shagging from day one! What were we supposed to notice?” exclaimed Lestrade with exasperation. “What about you Mr. World’s Only Consulting Detective? Your own brother got married and nothing stirred on your radar at all. You can’t tell me it did; you were as surprised as John. We never expected John to notice but you! What’s your excuse?”

“I have my mind set to automatically delete anything about my brother that could be deemed even remotely personal. If I had seen something suspicious my brain would have protected itself from trauma by ignoring the data and expunging it instantly.” John was laughing darkly at Sherlock’s explanation which both annoyed and pleased Sherlock. He did like making John laugh but he hadn’t been joking. There was nothing Sherlock wanted to experience less than witnessing his brother getting busy with anyone. Now Gavin was his brother-in-law and John would be insufferable about it forever. This completely ruined Sherlock’s decision to propose! Now it would look like he was only doing it to show Mycroft up! Sherlock should have just woken John up the night he’d taken his ring measurements and proposed on the spot! Then John would know it was because Sherlock really wanted to marry John, not because Gavin and Mycroft had gone and done it first.

John was yelling at someone named Greg. Sherlock did a re-take and mentally adjusted his internal monologue to include Lestrade’s proper name. He supposed he’d have to make an effort to recall it. It was annoying. Mrs. Hudson never made him remember her first name. They’d known one another since Sherlock had gotten out of uni the second time and Sherlock had never once used her first name. She was Mrs. Hudson. That’s who she was. Sherlock was sure he had it stored somewhere in his mind palace to use when absolutely necessary but up until now, it hadn’t been.

Daydreams aside Sherlock caught up to John’s rant, “…how would you feel if you found out WE were secretly married?” John was almost pointing in righteous indignation at the chagrined DI who seemed to now regret hiding this very important detail from his edgy friend.

Mycroft looked at both of them and for the first time ever John heard Mycroft laugh without restraint. It sounded rather nice actually but being laughed at by your boyfriend’s older brother was never a good experience. Finally Mycroft wiped his eyes and looked at John and Sherlock, giving his head a small shake. “John, when we made arrangements for you to make medical decisions on Sherlock’s behalf did you not read the document I gave you? Weren’t you listening to what the barristers were telling you?”

Sherlock looked confused now too. He’d signed all the same papers John had and he hadn’t noticed anything untoward. It had been twenty boring minutes that Sherlock had probably would have deleted except that John had been present. John looked up at Mycroft and gave his head a puzzled shake, “No, there was a bunch of them if you recall. When we picked you up and got Sherlock’s box of experiment supplies. I got access to all his financials too, what of it? I do all that stuff anyway, weren’t we just making it legal?”

Sherlock looked at John and John looked at Sherlock when Mycroft burst out laughing again, this time even rocking back into his expensive chair as his shoulders shook. Even Lestrade looked bemused as he watched his husband simply roar with laughter. When Mycroft managed to compose himself enough to speak again he asked curiously, “There were two big words at the top of one of the pages, do you recollect them John?” John didn’t and shook his head. He was beginning to get surly now. Mycroft turned to Sherlock and gave him the same questioning look but clearly Sherlock had simply signed wherever he had been required to and hadn’t read anything. He hated legalities and had spent the entire time acting like a petulant child which just made everything drag out. John had been very distracted by it. Mycroft let another peal of laughter ring through his office.

“Tell me what is so fucking funny right now Mycroft Holmes or I swear…..” Mycroft waved John silent and got up, extracted a file from a discrete cabinet and handed it to John. John flipped it open and leafed through copies of the various agreements John had signed over the last few years. He found the sheaf most recently added after Sherlock had returned to life; John had remembered arguing for certain rights because Mycroft wasn’t always available when they landed in hospital. There were the new ones on top they’d signed right after Sherlock had begun to get ill over and over again.

Mycroft had agreed that it was prudent and so had Sherlock. All their signatures were present right there at the bottom including the two lawyers that were present and the notary stamp as well. John’s eyes drifted to the top of the document and the two large words Mycroft had asked about were there. How had he missed this? Sherlock gasped and John was instantly relieved that he wasn’t the only clueless one this time. There on the top of the page of legal jargon and carefully worded phrases in great big huge characters that jumped right off the page were the letters that spelled out “Civil Union”

“We’re married?” asked John weakly. Mycroft was gasping for air and Lestrade was just dying, collapsing into a heavily cushioned sofa to clutch at his sides. Greg was understandable but John had never witnessed the sober civil servant so undone before, he was like a child! John’s voice was dull with shock despite their mirth, “We’ve been married for all this time and we had no idea. I thought you had to have some kind of ceremony?!”

Mycroft was going to do himself an injury but he finally managed to pull himself together though he looked deplorably pleased with himself, “That’s a wedding and it’s not mandatory but you can still have one if you want.”

John was incredibly upset. He shoved the file at Sherlock and walked out of Mycroft’s office and stormed away. It had been ages and he hadn’t known! This was devastating! John felt someone grab his shoulder roughly and he nearly went on the attack except that it was Sherlock who was pushing John into a mercifully unused room and shutting the door, “John. This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you. We can get it annulled. I know this isn’t what you want and I’m sorry for that. I know….”

“Shut up Sherlock! Just don’t, alright!” John shut his eyes and leaned back onto the door while Sherlock stood in front of him, his fingers balled up and a miserable expression on his face. John finally got his rage under control and looked at Sherlock with a steely gaze. “I don’t want to annul the union Sherlock. I’m upset because we’ve been legally married for WEEKS and I was dating Mary! That’s cheating and I am NOT a cheater! My dad….my…I don’t alright! I just don’t.”

“Your father was a philanderer.” said Sherlock bluntly and John nodded. John was the spitting image of his father, everyone in the family said so. He’d always hated that. He’d done everything he could to erase any similarities between himself and his late sire. Now look, without even trying, John was just like him.

“It sounds almost alright when you say it like that, cheeky like. It wasn’t. It was humiliating and awful to know your own dad set his entire family aside whenever he had a new itch to scratch. Before he died he was bringing them home for the night, it was that bad. He had a special bedroom for it in the basement. My mum stayed with him for me and Harry. They fought all the time. I swear she died of shame! Harry started drinking because of it, now she’s an even worse cheater than my dad was. I don’t know how Clara keeps taking her back! I….Sherlock….I feel sick.” John had brought his paramour home, had her right at the kitchen table shamelessly in front of his new husband. John was worse that his father! Sherlock got a wastebasket to him just in time for John to be prodigiously ill into it. He was grateful it had a bin-liner.

John felt so awful with tears streaming out of his eyes and his nose running as he tried to stop heaving. Sherlock’s big cool hand began to stroke over John’s shoulders and spine, his deep voice rumbling soothingly as he calmed John down. Finally John was able to stand and use the box of tissues Sherlock had gotten off a side-table and cleaned himself up. He smelled dreadful now but Sherlock didn’t hesitate about pulling John in for a long comforting hug and a quick kiss. “John Watson you are not a cheater, not by any stretch of the imagination. Why you thought you were as free as a bird and you still didn’t do anything with Mary though you had weeks’ worth of chances! We were only married for one day before you broke it off with her!”

Just because that was true didn’t make John feel any better! So careless was he that he’d gotten married and hadn’t even noticed! What kind of person did that? That’s not what Sherlock needed in his life. Sherlock needed someone who DID notice big occasions that included him because he had been overlooked for so long though John didn’t know how. Sherlock was amazing and he deserved someone so much better than a thoughtless faithless dolt like John! How could he ever make this breach of trust up to Sherlock? “I’m so sorry Sherlock.” The words seemed so inadequate but what could John say? Sherlock looked confused.

“Why are you sorry John? Neither of us realized. Even if we had you still did nothing with Mary though I do relish the opportunity to rub this in her face should the chance come up, do you think it will come up? That would be lovely.” Sherlock’s expression was sadistically happy with the idea and John laughed weakly. Sherlock stopped making that dreadful face and gave John a small kiss on the forehead. “Yes this is a surprise to both of us. We’ll have to accept the fact that Mycroft will never let us forget it either. Still, John, I would not blame you if you did not truly want this but I hope you do.”

“Of course I want this Sherlock but for me it’s also a bit upsetting that this momentous life-event happened and we didn’t even notice! We hadn’t even figured things out between us yet and we still have our own bedrooms and we didn’t tell anyone and….” John’s mouth was stuck on ramble now. He couldn’t seem to stop so Sherlock gave him another quick kiss. John was acutely aware of the need to brush his teeth but he relaxed anyway and let Sherlock hold him until he wasn’t feeling so turbulent.

“If you want it then we’ll work everything out, we will John. I want this too, very much. I want you to understand that.” When Sherlock pulled away he helpfully tied up the ruined bin liner and set it aside before leading John back to the other room. Pouring John a stiff drink after the doctor used Mycroft's facilities to wash both men ignored the smirks and chuckles of the other two. In a soft voice Sherlock said, “I suppose this explains the emergency room.”

“Yeah, they’re not usually so accommodating when we want to stay with one another.” They still gave it a shot but the staff had long ago given up trying to keep Sherlock from seeing John when he was in hospital and despaired of ever stopping John from getting to the detective when he was there. Now that they had been wed both their records must reflect their change in status. That meant that the emergency crew knew that they were married before they did! Would the shame of this lapse ever cease?

John and Sherlock looked at one another, their empty glasses clutched in bloodless fingers. Their eyes seemed to lock together and both of them said, “I was going to ask you to marry me. What? Really?”

Mycroft and Greg were laughing all over again but this time the couple didn’t care because they were kissing ecstatically, both men thrilled that the other had wanted the exact same thing. Sherlock put his arm around John’s shoulder when the need to breathe finally broke them apart, “I’m very happy John.”

“I’m very happy too Sherlock.” they looked at one another and smiled. They’d celebrate properly at a later date. Right now they had a very particular enemy to deal with. John poured a second round and generously splashed some more into two other glasses, indicating to Greg that all was forgiven and come have a drink. The offer was accepted and soon all four men were quietly discussing the logistics of fleeing London.

“Once we’re home we might not come back for a long time. Is there anything you want from the flat?” Mycroft had his mobile out but all they asked for was Sherlock’s violin and John’s gun cleaning kit and extra ammunition. Mycroft read the text that came back. “Anthea has already secured said items in anticipation of your request. She will rendezvous with us in ten minutes.” 

Sherlock looked at his brother, “We’ll need new things, clothes, accessories, the lot.” Mycroft gave Sherlock a steady look before texting rapidly. Sherlock was silently jubilant. This was the perfect pretext to gift John with everything he could want without fear of protest.

“I believe my outfitter can equip both of you adequately.” Mycroft eyed John’s jumper meaningfully, “Well, they’ll do their best.”

John looked reluctant already, “Can’t Anthea just pick up some things from the flat?” Sherlock stared at his brother who answered smoothly.

“We are moving forward not backward Doctor Watson; your window of opportunity has gone by. Anthea is long gone from Baker Street. You will have to make do with whatever I can scrounge up.” John didn’t complain but he looked disgruntled. Sherlock patted his hand soothingly. Mycroft stood, “It’s time to leave gentlemen.”

A small fleet of nearly identical black cars were parked in an underground lot. They came and went in a continuous stream, bearing away club members or guests to innumerable destinations. Mycroft’s driver was standing by theirs and it wasn’t long before they were on their way. A few turns and exits later they pulled into another underground lot and met with Anthea who silently handed over Sherlock’s violin case and John’s med kit as well as his gun cleaning kit. Everything was safely stowed away as Mycroft had a soft word with his PA whom he clearly still trusted. Anthea seemed determined and paid close attention to Mycroft, nodding sharply before simply leaving again.

The drive took something close to eternity, not all of which was particularly happy especially when Sherlock and Mycroft began yelling stridently at one another about their parents. Finally Greg told Mycroft to just leave it while John gave Sherlock a few hard words about inside voices when trapped in a moving vehicle with other people. Husbands switched places until Sherlock and Mycroft were as far from one another as they could be placed and John and Greg acted once again as mediators for peace. Finally Sherlock delivered his coup de grace, “You got married first, you tell them.” he spat.

Mycroft was silent for a long time after that, staring out the windows. John had only seen Mrs. and Mrs. Holmes one time and he hadn’t even been introduced. Sherlock had simply pushed them out of the flat without a word about John, not telling his flatmate who they were until they were long gone. John had been quite put out about it. “Mummy will be displeased.” Mycroft finally said in a soft voice.

“Well you shouldn’t have tricked everyone then. You know what this means don’t you.” both brothers shuddered and stared out their respective windows intently. John was very concerned and tugged at Sherlock’s sleeve until his husband looked down at him, “It means she gets to plan the wedding John. Whenever it is that we manage to have one that is. Moriarty first. With any luck it will take us years to resolve it. After that, it’s fair game as far as Mummy is concerned.”

Well that didn’t sound so bad. John’s late mother had done his sister’s wedding and it had been very sweet. As with the home lab John was more than willing to focus on the comprehensible wedding rather than brood about the faceless villain that could wipe them all out at any moment. “Well we’re already married. How bad could it be?”

“If we’d told her in advance we could have gotten away with a small civil service, just my parents and a handful of others,” Sherlock paused dramatically, “Since we didn’t tell her in advance she will of course reciprocate by making this the largest most ridiculously decadent wedding she can imagine and she can imagine a lot.”

Still, it wasn’t the worst scenario John could think of but Mycroft chimed in filled with dread, “Uncle Mordecai. Aunt Clarice. The cousins!” both brothers shuddered again. “We can only hope that Great-Uncle Kirin is too ill to make it, hopefully he dies before the event can even occur.” both brothers looked morbidly hopeful as well as resigned.

“That’s quite the family list. Does this mean I get to invite all my creepy relations as well?” Greg was trying to cheer Mycroft up.

The tall man looked down at his silver-haired partner, “You speak as if you have a choice. My mother will root out every member of your blood until none remain anywhere but to stand before her. The same goes for John. John, how is your sister these days?”

John paled and swallowed hard. He didn’t really want to see Harry, not for any reason. He made an effort to see her once a year, for lunch. They’d done that, three months ago. It had been horrible, as expected. John had months and months of freedom in front of him! Mummy Holmes couldn’t do that to him! It wasn’t fair! “My family isn’t very big.” he tendered hopefully. It was really just Harry right now.

Mycroft looked at him balefully, “I believe you mean your close family isn’t very big, whereas your extended family is probably quite large. This will be delightful. We’ll get to meet everyone, all at once.” Mycroft didn’t sound delighted. Now Greg was clutching his own knees and staring at the floor in horror. All of them were stricken as each man thought over their family trees and shivered. You loved your family but sometimes…..everyone shivered all over again.

“It’s not my fault.” said John weakly. He hadn’t asked to get sneak-married. He and Sherlock were practically the last ones to know! Now life had flipped around and everything was as far from good as it could get! Fleeing London in fear of James Moriarty but also running toward a woman who was practically guaranteed to be angry with him and who was already his mother-in-law. He didn’t even know her first name! John hadn’t even been completely sure Mr. Holmes was still alive, neither brother mentioned him. Well, they didn’t mention their Mummy normally either. There was that one time in Buckingham palace but….no, John was getting side-tracked again. John looked up and fixed Mycroft with an angry glare, “You are taking the brunt of this squarely Mycroft Holmes because no matter what your mother might do to you, if I find out that Sherlock and I are tormented needlessly because of you, you’re going to wish good old Jim found you first.”

Mycroft ignored John as if he’d never spoken but the stiff set of his shoulders let the smaller man know he’d been heard and understood. Eventually the vehicle began to slow and turned into a long dark lane that went on for a short distance. A large wrought-iron gate gained them access to an immaculate property where the driver pulled up to a door where a stately man in dark livery was waiting for them. Sherlock and Mycroft got out without a word and waited for their husbands. Taking John’s hand Sherlock ignored the man in livery and just pulled the doctor along with him. Another liveried individual was inside and took their coats, “We’ll have dinner in my rooms. Send up enough for two. Don’t bother us until morning.”

The servant nodded, taking Sherlock’s entire attitude in stride, leaving John to almost need to break into a run to catch up with the long legged man. Greg and Mycroft were left to fend for themselves and it took several minutes of silent walking before Sherlock stopped in front of a rather scarred looking door with an ominously complicated looking lock. Sherlock produced a key from his Belstaff and with a smile, took John by the hand and led him in.

Sherlock had a suite inside his family home. It had its own bath, a sitting room with a small fireplace as well as the large bedroom. The bed was completely utilitarian but at least large enough for the two of them to fit easily onto it, a fact that Sherlock wasted no time in verifying.

Several kisses and furtive feels later Sherlock pulled away almost instinctively as a knock came from the door. Cautiously they answered and Sherlock allowed a cart to be pushed into his room, their dinner accompanied by a bottle of wine as well as a small cheese tray. Ruthlessly clearing a space from a small table covered with stacks of books Sherlock got John settled in to eat. There wasn’t much to say right then and John realized he was so hungry he could have sucked the pattern off the fine china plates they were eating off of. He finished every crumb as well as whatever Sherlock didn’t bother with. By the time their wine was nearly done John was feeling relaxed and almost sleepy.

All the sleepiness vanished when Sherlock got up, stuffed all the soiled dishes onto the cart and shoved it into the hallway to be dealt with. He then returned to John, not getting him up, merely seizing the chair with John in it and forcing it around to face him. Sherlock then settled himself on John’s lap, his legs spread wide as he kissed the smiling doctor’s lips gently, “John. I want tonight to be the night. I don’t want to wait anymore. Too many things interfere. There’s too much uncertainty. I don’t want to have regrets because we ran out of time. I want everything with you.”

John had no problem with that request. Sherlock’s body was lean and warm, his mouth tasting of the wine they’d just finished. The kiss he gave John was sweet and demanding, filled with longing and desire. John let Sherlock plunder his mouth for a minute more before taking control of the kiss slowly. John soon had Sherlock gasping and panting as John’s tongue played with his, his small hands beginning to wander over Sherlock’s back. “Come on beautiful, time for bed.” John didn’t wait for Sherlock to get up. He just stood, his hip not troubling him a bit as Sherlock held on tight, allowing John to carry him away for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crosses fingers and hopes for the best*


	12. Welcome Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has been taken away from London by the Holmes' brothers and Greg Lestrade. It's not quite what they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * cues porn soundtrack *

Even after years of being away Sherlock’s bedroom smelled like him. The scent of his lover wrapped around John as Sherlock began to relentlessly divest John of all his clothes, taking time and care to drop them in a neat pile by the bed. Already both of them were breathing hard as skin became available to mouths and fingers, both men caressing and tasting everywhere they could.

Sherlock looked almost serious as he let his fingers wander over John’s shoulders to trace his scar. John didn’t show it to people, never made mention of it ever. Sherlock loved it. John was strong, unbeatable, unstoppable. He was the most magnificent man Sherlock had ever met and it was a privilege to be able to touch his lips to this most sacred of sites, proof of John Watson’s inestimable value.

Sherlock was glorious, all elegant lines and alabaster flesh. His few scars, mostly from The Work or related research, were pale pink shadows, mere echoes of past trauma, unlike John’s scars. Those were all bold and gnarled, all left from the various grievous wounds he had endured willingly to save Sherlock as well as countless others. John was brave and selfless. Sherlock was unearthly and almost inhumanly gorgeous. John was dazzled by his lover, his dark shining curls and his long lean body. Sherlock’s eyes were luminous and gravely happy, his cupid-bow lips parting to whisper, “John.”

For a long time there were no more words because none were needed except for two, “Back pocket.” gasped Sherlock, breaking off the latest of long and heated kisses they had shared. There was a minute of fumbling as John searched for Sherlock’s trousers and fished out a small handful of packets, all of lube. With a wolfy grin John dropped them on Sherlock’s night-table, returning Sherlock’s self-satisfied smirk for being prepared. They didn’t discuss condoms, they didn’t need to. There were no two people in London who had more current information on their state of health than John and Sherlock.

There was a silent argument as both men groped at the other, offering themselves first but Sherlock was adamant. He wanted his virginity done with and as far as he was concerned until he was penetrated it wasn’t done enough. John showed his acceptance by pushing Sherlock face down onto the bed, heaving his narrow hips up with one strong arm to stuff a pillow beneath them. John kneed Sherlock’s thighs wide before running his hands slowly over Sherlock’s back, “You’re so beautiful Sherlock, you really have no idea how beautiful you truly are.”

Sherlock smiled to himself knowing that John was love-blind. He wasn’t beautiful but John made him feel desirable and sensual, that’s what mattered. If viewing his painfully thin body and too long limbs aroused John, then that was good news indeed. John surprised Sherlock by moving forward and simply laying on him, kissing his way over the back of Sherlock’s neck, just draped over the detective. Sherlock rather liked the feel of it. John softly said, “I love you.”

Sherlock was completely undone then. John was ruthless. His small thin lips mouthed across Sherlock’s back, sucking at the knobs of Sherlock’s spine, his blunt teeth nipping here and there. His hand was between Sherlock’s ass cheeks, massaging and toying but not entering yet. Instead his lube slicked fingers swirled and pressed, encouraging Sherlock to relax and he did. With a hungry sigh Sherlock pushed into John’s finger, silently begging for more. John gave it to him.

John was gentle but unceasing. Sherlock closed his eyes, a half-smile on his face as John took care to open him. John was mesmerized by the process. His fingers felt squeezed and Sherlock’s insides were smooth and hot. John would have happily continued preparing Sherlock for a much longer period of time but eventually he realized he had three fingers working deep and fast, that Sherlock was gasping and beginning to moan roughly. John made himself slow and pulled back cautiously.

Sherlock knew what was coming next and he was sure he was ready for it. John’s fingers had been strange intrusions at first but the oddity had turned into a slow pleasurable burn. His whole body was twanging with arousal, his mind jumping from startling over-awareness to blissed out acceptance in a hectic dance. John was generous with the lube though and his short thick fingers were gliding easily in and out of Sherlock’s entrance. John kneed Sherlock’s thighs just a little wider and sat on his heels, his cock in his hand as he stroked lube over himself, “Such a pretty sight.” the doctor sighed softly and Sherlock blushed. He was almost kneeling, his knees as wide as they could go, his arse angled upwards, his backside shiny with lube.

John shuffled forward on his knees and teased Sherlock’s hole with the head of his cock, pressing and rubbing until Sherlock was almost keening with anxiety. Using his hand to help guide his way in John slowly began to push inward. Sherlock kept himself still, and tried not to tense up but it was impossible not to. This experience was too momentous, Sherlock wanted to remember every detail but it was soon too much! The texture of John’s glans was so different than the comparatively smooth surface of his fingers. It seemed to catch at Sherlock’s flesh, made the entry so much more intense than he could have predicted.

Sherlock’s moans became slightly distressed. It was almost painful, almost. It was the intensity he couldn’t deal with. Sherlock stayed as still as he could, panting shallowly as his entire body broke into a sweat. There were too many different variables he wasn’t familiar with, there were too many big things happening at once, Sherlock couldn’t stop the sensual calm he had been enjoying from slipping away. John paused, letting Sherlock acclimate but it wasn’t easy and before he was completely ready John began to move inward again, “No!” cried Sherlock in a panic. It was too much, much too much. “Stop, please. I can’t!”

John pulled back carefully and Sherlock lay there feeling ashamed as well as pained. John had only just started and Sherlock couldn’t go any further. He wanted to cry. The pillow beneath his hips was tugged away and Sherlock felt his whole head burn with mortification as John made him roll to his side to face him. “Shh love, it’s okay. Sherlock, it’s okay.” John was soothing him! He wasn’t upset or disgusted with Sherlock’s inability! “I don’t want to hurt you love, never!”

Sherlock did cry then, just a little. John was too good, far too good for him. Sherlock hid his face in the pillow, not letting John see. All he wanted to do was have sex with the man he loved and he couldn’t even allow John to penetrate him properly. Sherlock was a failure! John kissed Sherlock’s ear, and then kissed his neck. Gently causing the detective to turn his face away from his pillow John kissed away the tears that lingered, his gentle face filled with only love and concern.

John kissed Sherlock for a very long time until his stiff shoulder demanded another position and John had to lay back to rest it. Sherlock cuddled close, his large hand exploring John’s soft stomach almost restively, “I’m so sorry, I really wanted this.”

“Well we’ll give me a go next time, see how that works out.” John didn’t sound worried or put out. In fact he was toying with Sherlock’s curls, tugging them and letting them spring back. Sherlock had very sensitive follicles so the playful stimulation was beginning to arouse him. That was terrible after making John quit having sex just as they were getting started. It must be bad form to get excited on your own while denying your lover a chance to get off the way you really wanted.

“Who knows when we’ll have chance again John,” Tonight might well be the only safe night they had in a long time. “I’m sorry.”

“Well I’ve done some serious calculations based on the frequency of our intimacies and if I’ve done my math right I estimate that we’re going to have another go in about two minutes. You fuck me Sherlock; we can try you again later if you want.” John was bloody amazing. He wasn’t being critical or insulting about Sherlock. In fact he seemed eager and very, very willing. It didn’t take long for those two minutes to go by and then Sherlock was being ravaged by the smaller man. It was glorious.

With gentle encouragement Sherlock found himself in the position of preparing John to receive him. He was nervous. Sherlock had to keep his hands from shaking as he smoothed lube onto them, tentatively touching John, fretting that he’d make John hurt somehow.

The flesh beneath the pads of Sherlock’s fingers was warm and wrinkled; firm but beginning to yield already. John wasn’t shy about asking for Sherlock to press harder, or to rub in small circles until the older man was panting and groaning softly. “Go slow, push in with one finger.” panted John and Sherlock complied. It was fascinating. John’s body held him so tightly, he was hot inside. “Fuck…that’s good, just keep that up for a minute.”

Sherlock was finally getting into it, his rational mind storing John’s reactions, cataloging all his reflexive movements as well as his deliberate ones. He found that he was working a second finger in at John’s word, following the doctor’s instructions, “Crook your fingers just a bit.” moaned John. Sherlock tried but he couldn’t quite locate the area that John wanted him to find. “Come here.”

John slowly pulled away from Sherlock and kissed him hard, pushing Sherlock onto his back. John’s hand snaked back down between Sherlock’s thighs, his eager fingers swirling and pressing ardently, “Like this.” he whispered.

Sherlock’s eyes closed and his back arched as John’s beautiful fingers sank back into him, first one, then two. John was making nonsense sounds of approval as Sherlock moaned deeply, his legs spreading wide to allow John to demonstrate with greater ease. The lightest flutter of fingertips was enough to make Sherlock gasp, his eyes flying wide open again as his cock strained to get even harder, “Jesus Christ John!”

There was a bit of a scramble then as both men tried to reach for the other or keep going as he had been but somehow or other John managed to get Sherlock kneeling over his hips, arse facing the doctor’s head, “Fuck that’s gorgeous.” John’s fingers resumed their game as Sherlock leaned forward to play similarly with John. They learned from one another, careful not to touch their cocks. That would end their game before it was properly completed. If one did something the other found pleasurable he would repeat it back onto the body of his lover until they were speaking the same language of moans and shuddering gasps of rising arousal. Both men were loose and receptive, slick and shining.

Sherlock made up his mind. Pulling away and still moaning a bit, Sherlock swiveled around and knelt back over John’s hips. Reaching back he positioned John’s cock against his entrance and looked into his lover’s face. John looked cautious but so aroused, he was biting his bottom lip and his cheeks were flushed with desire. Sherlock wanted this more than anything now and this time when he pushed down it didn’t overwhelm him. Instead Sherlock felt full, and not content until he had sunk down as far as he could go, slowly working John’s entire cock into himself.

John had never seen anything as sexy as watching Sherlock Holmes impale himself willingly on his cock. John watched with open mouthed lust as he was covered inch at a time with the hottest, tightest, most perfect passage he’d ever experienced. As he felt Sherlock’s whole weight settle on him John carefully reached down and put his hands on Sherlock’s hips, letting his lover set the speed and pace. Sherlock understood and John lay back to revel in the display.

Sherlock was nervous at first, moving with great caution. He was in total control of the penetration though it took all of John’s self-control not to begin thrusting upward. Sherlock had never felt such love for the man inside him, it felt just perfect now, like they were meant to be doing this. Sherlock moaned softly as John’s cock gently slid over his prostate, “John!” he cried. It was so beautiful.

Both men were flushed and sweaty, both sets of brows knitted in concentration as Sherlock began to gain confidence and moved faster. All his nervousness was gone. This felt so good! John was hot inside him, Sherlock’s body tightening around the doctor, amplifying each thrilling sensation. John had never experienced sex like this! Every single touch, every slide of flesh, every drop of sweat and small cry, all of it was the best he’d ever known. His entire body seemed to be afire with sweet tension. A small swirl of Sherlock’s narrow hips and John cried out, alarmed sounding, “Shit!” he gasped and suddenly Sherlock could feel himself being filled with small damp spurts of heat while John twisted and groaned beneath him, the soldier’s eyes squeezed shut as he bit back his cries, “Oh god, Sherlock, fuck. M’sorry. I didn’t mean…..”

“Shut up John.” Sherlock pulled off slowly, hissing a bit as he was left feeling empty and a tiny bit raw. Quickly shuffling back Sherlock knelt between John’s sweat covered thighs and pushed his unresisting legs up high, “Tell me if I’m going too fast.”

Pliant with the extensive preparation as well as the orgasm he’d just had made pushing into John was comparatively easy. John still made him go very slow, Sherlock concentrating on working his aching cock into the smaller man in careful increments until he was balls deep. It was the best feeling in the world, completely removing Sherlock from the discomfort his own backside was feeling. John was sweaty and panting but he was also as eager as Sherlock was.

“Okay,” he said after Sherlock had held himself still for a while, “Slowly.” Sherlock went slow. He had to close his eyes though because the feel of John’s body as well as the sight of John’s sex-flushed face was too much stimulation. Sherlock wanted to last at least a little bit. He wasn’t too sure how far to retreat and almost extracted himself completely before pushing slowly back inside, his eyes now locked onto John’s face. There was discomfort there but intense enjoyment as well.

Sherlock’s cock ached with the desire to spill. John felt perfect, just perfect. For the first time ever Sherlock really understood the word ‘pleasure’. It wasn’t just the orgasm, which was sure to be marvelous, but it was the intimacy and trust as well. It made more than the nerves of his genitalia feel amazing, Sherlock felt amazing. John Watson, brave soldier, accomplished surgeon and doctor, survivor, warrior, the most sublime man in the world cared enough for someone as pathetically flawed as Sherlock Holmes, societal incompetent, that he let Sherlock take him in a way no other person ever had. No other person ever would, this would always be for Sherlock alone. “I love you.” he whispered, bending down to nearly lie on the smaller man beneath him.

John’s hips were up in the air, his thighs spread wide and shamelessly. Sherlock braced himself on his fists over John, planted firmly onto the mattress on either side of John’s head and began to drive himself deep and hard, “Sherlock. Fuck. Just like that. Please. Oh god, please, I want more!” John was begging, begging Sherlock to fuck him harder!

Sherlock obliged. Biting his lip to distract himself from the delicious sensation of entering John’s stimulating little behind Sherlock began to snap his hips hard. John was making the most delectable sounds and Sherlock really needed to hear more. Since he was a scientist he began to experiment; rolling his hips, rocking shallowly, slamming feverishly into John. The doctor loved all of it and rewarded Sherlock with sighs, gasps, moans and grunts.

Sherlock’s arms and legs gave out, “John! Oh god John!” Sherlock’s whole body was driving in hard, barely within Sherlock’s control. He realized that John was hard again, his small hand pumping between their two bodies and it was too much again but marvelously so. Sherlock knew his throat was making sounds but he couldn’t hear a thing anymore. His entire nervous system went into overload, he couldn’t close his eyes, he couldn’t control the way his hips were jerking spasmodically. Sherlock couldn’t stop staring at John’s perfect blue eyes as pure bliss absolutely destroyed him. He knew his elbows were digging into John’s shoulders because Sherlock was crouched over him now, fucking him crazily as the best orgasm he’d ever had took control.

John’s hand was still moving even after Sherlock had been reduced to a twitching wreck. He felt a sting on his shoulder where John was biting him, one small strong hand nearly tearing a handful of hair from his head as John groaned brokenly and came a second time. Sherlock couldn’t move, perversely enjoying the sticky way they were joined together, a beautiful mess of sweat and come.

Sherlock wanted to stay inside John forever so he held off moving. John would have to evict him forcibly. The smaller man didn’t seem to be in any kind of a rush so Sherlock smiled like an idiot into the pillow beside John face and took in every single detail he could perceive, trying to absorb this first experience through his very skin, to make it part of him forever. Even his toes felt happy. Sherlock could swear every single part of him was humming blissfully, and for the first time ever Sherlock felt beautiful. John made him feel beautiful.

Shyly Sherlock slowly turned his head to look at John whose breath he could feel on his ear. John had a huge grin on and Sherlock could only describe the look on John’s face as besotted, “I love you.” said John simply and Sherlock tingled all over. Feeling almost bashful for some reason Sherlock pecked John’s cheek before whispering the words back to him, meaning every last letter to the fullest extent possible. John’s eyes were soft and full of amazed wonder, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him back up onto his small hard body, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” he said sincerely and Sherlock loved him all the fiercer for the truth he heard because John really believed what he said.

They kissed for a long time before John finally sighed, “I suppose we’ll have to wash at some point.” he sounded regretful and tightened his hold on Sherlock as if he were just as reluctant as the detective to separate. Sherlock kissed him again and very slowly withdrew, now incredibly sensitive. Both men hissed and Sherlock suddenly sat back on his heels and watched, “You really are a pervert.” said John tolerantly.

Sherlock shrugged as he watched John’s fluttering behind, still glistening with lube and come, pliant and almost calling to Sherlock. He couldn’t resist, trailing his fingers through the mess that was leaking from his lover, “Sherlock!” protested John but Sherlock ignored him. This was their mess, one they’d made together. They’d combined their essences as much as humanly possible so Sherlock was inside John and would be for eternity, even after every last trace of DNA had made its way out of the doctor. It was living art and Sherlock adored it.

His own behind was evidence of their love and Sherlock decided that maybe a shower wouldn’t be unromantic. He helped John up and together they wobbled to the en suite and stayed under the hot spray until their knees firmed up a bit. A soapy flannel was shared and both men were scrubbed till they were shiny.

The bed was a wreck. John wished he’d thought to put a towel down or something because there were definite sex-stains that neither of them probably wanted to sleep on. “Sherlock?” Sherlock made a face and simply tugged on a long ribbon that hung by the bed. John hadn’t even noticed it. Only a minute later there was a polite rap on the door. A young earnest looking man in livery nodded at a few discrete words from Sherlock, left but came back again a few minutes later with another person as well as fresh linens. While John watched in shock the bed was crisply remade, the soiled sheets and one now replaced blanket whisked away to be immediately laundered. Sherlock just shrugged out of his robe and got back into bed, “Coming?” he asked.

“I wish I’d had your life.” said John who had never once had someone cater to him like that. The sheets were expensive and smelled freshly cleaned. Sherlock pulled John right over, simply wrapping his arms and legs around the doctor as if John were going to try and escape in the night. “I love you Sherlock, sleep well.”

“I love you too John. Stop talking and go to sleep.” one last quick peck on the lips was given before Sherlock closed his eyes. It wasn’t a difficult request to honor. John was well and truly shagged out. Sherlock was already breathing heavy and with a contented sigh John fell right asleep.

The next morning found John examining several garment bags that had arrived in the night and were currently on a valet trolley that came equipped with shelves for shoes as well as ties and other manly adornments. John was scowling, “What the fuck is this?”

Sherlock glanced at it, “From Mycroft’s tailor, your replacement wardrobe for while you are here. Mycroft is an idiot! Just fine something unappalling to wear for today and we’ll send the rest back. I’ll do the order myself. Mycroft has never had fashion sense. Don’t worry John, I’ll fix this.”

John muttered blackly to himself as he dug through the fine cut suits. Finally he found a pair of relatively plain trousers and a shirt that wasn’t too uptight and put them on. Sherlock was digging around his old wardrobe and finally pulled out a rolled up bundle, “Here.” he said and shoved it at John, “I used to get cold in uni.”

John unrolled it. It was a thick chunky cardigan knitted from a robust brown wool. It had clearly been worn a great deal. The arms were a little long and the waist was a little tight but John felt good after pulling on Sherlock’s old clothes. Sherlock clearly liked it as well and just stared at John as if he’d never seen the man before, “Thanks love.”

“You’re very welcome John. I find I rather like seeing you in something of mine.” John felt good. He wasn’t done up like a posh prat, he’d never felt comfortable in a suit, but he wouldn’t be ashamed to meet anyone. Like Sherlock’s mum.

Oh god.

How had John not thought of that? She lived here for crying out loud. They hadn’t even said hello when they arrived! What kind of impression would that make? He’d rushed off with Sherlock and then shagged her son silly without even a hello? Not that he wanted her to know they’d finally had sex. Oh god. Both of them were walking a bit funny this morning too. It had been cute when it was just the two of them in the room wincing and hissing a bit.

“Do you think your mum will like me?” John thought it was a stupid question the second he heard it. How could she?

“I don’t think it really matters if she does or not John. We’re married; she can’t change that so her good opinion is irrelevant. My father might be a bit loud about it, but not Mummy.” John felt a bit cheered. He could deal with a bit of yelling from an irate father. He deserved it after sneaking off and marrying their boy without a word to anyone, not even himself.

John recalled Sherlock’s words with perfect but helpless clarity thirty minutes later as he was chastised loudly by Mr. Holmes, not for marrying Sherlock without telling them, but for not popping by for a day of shooting at targets. Sieger Holmes was a sweet old man, tall, thin, and very gray. He was a collector of weaponry and learning that John used to be a soldier was all it took before the elderly man was attempting to plan an afternoon out with John at a local range.

Mummy was statuesque and icy, her silver hair done into something approaching a crown. Mummy didn’t shout. She didn’t need to. Violet Holmes was a tall commanding woman whose every pore exuded a stately power that demonstrated to John how very far Mycroft had to go. The civil servant was exquisite at his job but clearly Mummy Holmes was the bastion of condescendingly polite dislike. It was also apparent that Sherlock completely adored his mother, allowing her to pet his curls and kissing her cheek eagerly. John wasn’t sure how Sherlock missed it because though Sieger seemed to like John, Violet clearly did not.

She sent them away, making John stay alone with her. John hadn’t felt such dread since he had been strapped to an explosive vest. Violet stared at him. It was disconcerting because Sherlock had her eyes and seeing his lover’s eyes glare balefully at him made John feel the beginnings of a panic attack. This would be the worst possible time for his body to react to stress! “Mycroft insists you had no idea that you and my child had legally married one another. I find it most interesting that the points in your argument that led to this condition were all financial.”

Stress leached away and anger replaced it. John sat straighter and looked firmly at the woman accusing him of being some kind of gold-digger. “Sherlock has bills and expenses he never remembers to take care of! He’s been hospitalized numerous times. Who else is going to make sure his business is taken care of? He’s my best friend, of course he trusts me to look after him. He does the same for me!”

“He has family to turn to.” she said, her voice almost sibilant with distaste, “He does not need someone like you dragging him down into the dirt. To think that such brilliance has joined with such…..common clay. I had such hopes of matching Sherlock with someone worthy of his talents. I grieve for what he has settled for. Now you come to my home for shelter, unable to provide even that for my boy. Mr. Watson, you most certainly do not have my approval. My people have looked into your history and found it completely lacking in worth. Even that person my eldest wed has some value but what of you? You are despicable. You don’t work full time. You’re no longer in the military. You are a broken soldier too wounded for war and you married for money. You don’t even have the competency to maintain a regular place of work; you’ve been with numerous clinics over the last several years. You are unreliable and a lowborn rascal for continuing this travesty of a marriage. My barrister will be here this afternoon to terminate this abomination.”

John paled and clenched his fist. Breathing through his nose John stood straight up and simply left. He couldn’t trust what he would say to a statement like that. John knew he wasn’t up to the sorts of standards that Holmes’ expected. He was short, he’d needed to join the army to afford medical school, and he had no idea how high society people really lived. The tremor in his weak arm was beginning and John had to walk quickly to get back to Sherlock’s room.

No one was in it. The valet trolley was gone which was fortunate because the second the door shut firmly behind John the heavy treacle of conflicting hormones that washed through his limbs brought him to his knees. Too much stress. Too much change. Falling to his knees, ass in the air, John’s face was on the carpet; his arms around his head as he struggled to control his breathing, struggled to stop the full body cramps that came with a full blown episode. Desperately John tried the rituals and techniques he’d been taught to manage the mindless fear. It wasn’t working! The blackness came and John sweated his way through the convulsions, not realizing he’d pierced his palms with his fingertips as his fists balled up. The world was out of John’s control and he couldn’t stop his mind from spinning and vomiting up the nightmare images which still made him scream in the darkness.

John’s head wanted to split open, his chest was tight. His heart was beating hard, too hard. The lack of oxygen was making the blackness grow and the world seemed so far away. The air was whistling through his nose as he tried to suck in one panicked breath after another, now clawing at the cardigan Sherlock used to wear. John mercifully passed out, curled up on the floor, his hands bleeding lightly.

When he woke it was in Sherlock’s bed, nude, with Sherlock sitting in a chair next to him reading a book on alchemy, “Sherlock.” John noticed that his hands had been wrapped professionally.

The book was dropped and Sherlock was beside John so fast the doctor wondered if he’d faded out for a moment, “John? Tell me how you feel John, I found you on the floor. The doctor was here to consult with us but I sent him away after he said you would wake up. He wouldn’t speak to me though, John. What happened?”

John wasn’t hiding this from Sherlock. He told his husband what Violet had said. As soon as he was done John rolled away from Sherlock, “She probably has the paperwork all ready. I’ll sign after you. I’ll find someplace to go…maybe Harry.” Sherlock loved his Mummy, she hated John. Sherlock would do as his mother wished and get a divorce.

“You are such an idiot John but at least you are my idiot.” Sherlock rolled John back toward him forcibly, “I refuse to get a divorce even if you wanted one. My initial offer to end our marriage after we learned of it was a complete lie. I’d never sign. John?”

John didn’t want to listen. He had a horrific headache and his whole body felt pained. His stomach was still twisted and John wanted to throw up. He shut his eyes instead. Sherlock curled up tenderly to him and whispered into his ear, “I’ll never leave you John. You are the sun, I cannot exist without you. You are life, without you I will wither and perish, I know it. You are my brave soldier, my very best friend, the only lover I will ever have! You take care of me, of us, I need that. Only you matter John, only you!”

Now John did hear Sherlock and believed him. Sherlock spoke to no one but John like this, this tone of voice was only for John, just like that particular smile was only for John. John believed so he turned in his husband’s arms and allowed Sherlock to comfort him. John still felt sick and queasy. It would be a couple of hours before the last traces of his anxiety attack left him. His head was pounding but Sherlock seemed to know that and began to massage John’s head and neck with strong fingers that dug deep and broke the tension. Shivering a bit at the excruciating relief as the agony ebbed away John eventually relaxed enough to let the headache evaporate. “Thanks.”

After several minutes John quietly asked, “Can we leave?”

“Yes. Right now if you choose. I will not make you stay somewhere you are unwelcome.” John wasn’t sure this was a great idea. They had come here for a reason but John simply could not be here with Sherlock’s mother hating him so. He wondered what the barrister was doing and what he had missed when the doctor had been.

“What did the doctor say?” Sherlock was holding John and now rubbing his back soothingly, not hesitating as he answered.

“There is nothing conclusive from the tests already run though we knew those were preliminary. I’ve been scheduled for several more tests at his clinic. He checked you over first though. I believe he had a word with Mummy after. They’ve known each other for years; he and Papa were at school together.”

“What’s his name?” John always liked to know the name of the people who doctored him, especially if he’d been unconscious at the time which had happened a lot in John’s life. War was rough and the wound on his shoulder wasn’t the only one he’d nearly died from.

“Doctor Murray.” Sherlock seemed content to let John lay there as long as he wished but eventually the small man needed the loo and to wash the stink of fear off of him. John realized his hands were still shaking but Sherlock just took them in his over-large fingers and kissed them till they stilled, “My brave soldier.” he husked and when he looked into John’s eyes all the doctor could see was love.

John was helped out of bed and into the shower. When he got out he found that his travel clothes had been laundered by angels in heaven so that they were soft and delicate smelling. Gratefully John pulled on his old worn shirt and his twice-darned sock while Sherlock waited patiently to hand John his bargain-store stripy jumper. The detective wrapped his arms around John and hugged him so John gave him a kiss, “Let’s go talk to Mycroft.”

They found Mycroft in his rooms. Greg was smiling at his husband and threw a friendly grin their way, “Hey, how did the Grand Audience go. Better than ours I hope. Your mum wouldn’t say a word to me.” Sherlock’s expression wiped the grin off of Greg’s face and brought Mycroft’s attention fully on the pair of them. “What happened?” Greg was sitting up and he looked very serious.

John was still ashen so Sherlock sat him on the end of Mycroft’s small sofa, away from Greg. “Mummy had quite a bit to say to John privately. By the time she was done she’d triggered John’s PTSD. I didn’t find him till much later because I was with Papa and then Doctor Murray. John and I are leaving immediately. I won’t make him endure this.”

Mycroft looked grim “John, I cannot express how aggrieved I am at Mummy’s behavior. I should have suspected something when she demanded to see you and Sherlock alone. I confess that Mummy has always been temperamental but I have never heard of a reaction this extreme. All I can say is that Sherlock is her baby.”

Sherlock’s voice managed to be cold and impassioned at the same time, “He was unconscious on the floor Mycroft. She was more than temperamental. Mummy knew all the right things to say to make this happen and she very deliberately said them! You know as well as I that not one word that passes her lips is accidental. She doesn’t speak in the heat of the moment. Mycroft, she’s bringing in a barrister to try and end my marriage!”

“So that’s why Gordon was here.” mused Mycroft, “She can try Sherlock but she won’t succeed. I imagine Mr. Watts explained the matter to her. Your fortunes have long since been out of her hands. She has no legal hold over you anymore and has not for years. Papa seems to like John. I can’t imagine how she plans to explain her decision to end your marriage to him.

John didn’t want to talk about this. It was an emotional minefield and all John wanted to do was leave this mausoleum and go anywhere else at all. Moriarty had hated him but he had never attacked John with the ferocity that Mrs. Holmes had flayed John open with. “I’m leaving.” he declared and did just that.

John went back to Sherlock’s rooms with his husband, both men swiftly repacking their almost non-existent possessions. Sherlock dug out some old socks and pants, stuffed them into a haversack that now contained the hard-case with his violin in it, as well as John’s gun kit and their med kit. It was boxy but they could make do. Slinging it over his shoulder Sherlock took John’s hand and led him away. Sieger was in the foyer rooting through the pockets of a weather-worn jacket, “Sherlock, have you seen my glasses?”

“They’re on your head Papa.” Sherlock handed his father’s glasses over after plucking them out of his neatly combed hair. Sherlock pecked his father on the cheek, “We’re off now Papa. John needs to go.”

“Oh, that’s too bad! I was rather hoping we’d go shooting this afternoon.” Sieger pulled Sherlock in for a big squeeze then surprised John by squeezing him too, “What’s the rush my boys? Can’t be pretty girls waiting for you, so, what is it?”

Sherlock didn’t say anything but Sieger’s eyes hardened nonetheless, “She didn’t.”

“Mycroft can fill you in Papa. We’re going now. We’ll send a message when we’re safe.” Sherlock tried to leave but Sieger grabbed onto his hand.

“Safe? Sherlock? What do you mean safe? Why aren’t you safe now?” Mr. Holmes looked concerned and did not let his son’s hand go.

“Mycroft will explain everything. Don’t worry Papa. John will take care of me. He always does. I’ll let Mycroft know where we are.” Sherlock firmly pulled his hand free and led John out the door. Anthea was there and she nodded over her shoulder to the town car parked in the drive, “Boss said you could have this one. Go to this address to trade for another vehicle. A replacement is coming to get me. Funds have been transferred, you are to go to a bank at the first opportunity and withdraw all of it.”

Sherlock nodded and escorted John into the passenger seat, even buckling him in before getting into the driver’s side. The doctor leaned out the window and sincerely said, “Tell Mycroft we said thanks.” Anthea’s face clouded for a second but she nodded and let them drive away without another word. John read out the address and Sherlock nodded, “I know the place. It will be about half an hour.”

It was a caravan rental lot. There were lots of models but Sherlock and John were led to an all-in-one unit that they could drive and park anywhere. Their home on wheels! John actually kind of liked it even though Sherlock made a bit of a face. “We’ll be like pirates Sherlock, we’ll wander from place to place as the wind takes us.” That cheered Sherlock right up and he was instantly looking at the caravan with fondness.

Sherlock spent a few minutes going over the maintenance of the unit which was theirs entirely. Mycroft must have purchased it for them while they drove to the lot! John got the lot owner to snap a picture of them using John’s phone, both men grinning like fools in front of what amounted to their first home together. Once they understood how to service it papers were signed, insurance was organized and the town car they arrived in was left to be picked up by one of Mycroft’s minions.

They were on the way to a small town before John finally really spoke, “I know we’re making a terrible choice. We’re so vulnerable out here. I can’t believe Mycroft just let us walk away.”

Sherlock was quiet for a long time, “John, are you happy with the idea of traveling with me?”

“Of course! If things weren’t so horrible this would be the best time ever.” John felt tremendously guilty all of a sudden. He was exposing them to every kind of possible villain. Maybe they should just go back. The mansion was huge; surely John could stay away from Mrs. Holmes if he needed to. This was so stupid! This was needlessly risky!

“Stop. I know that face. Yes, we are in danger but then, we nearly always are. I love you and you love me, all that seems to matter to me is keeping you alive and happy. We’re in this ridiculous vehicle, just as much a target as ever as we would have been in the family home. I will not keep you there my love because you would be unhappy. If I’d asked you to stay you would have stayed, no matter how my mother made you suffer. I cannot bear the idea of you being tormented when it is so easy to just go. I love my mother, I do. She’s always been unreasonable when it comes to me. I should never have left you alone with her until she knew you better. I am sorry John.”

They drove aimlessly for an hour or so until they came across a small town. They pulled into a large parking area and did some business. There was a branch of Sherlock’s bank in town. Sherlock had to spend some time arguing with a bank manager but eventually got the man to extract every pound that was in the hefty account before closing it. He was very unhappy about it but Sherlock didn’t care. He just handed the money over to John.

They bought clothes. Sherlock had a good time choosing denim trousers and a selection of long sleeved teeshirts. He even bought some striped socks and trainers, a hoodie, and a Trilby hat. He looked as different as he could from the entity visually identifiable as Sherlock Holmes. John followed suite. He picked out modish clothes, funky shoes, brilliant socks, and even a sassy hat to go with Sherlock’s Trilby. He also found two pairs of sunglasses they could make use of and startled the salesman who hadn’t handled that much folding cash in a long time.

After unloading their new wardrobe and discarding the packaging they went shopping again, this time to the chemists. John blushed a bit when Sherlock had an earnest discussion with the flamboyantly gay young man behind the counter regarding the best lube to get and bought two containers of it while the young man smirked. John blushed but put a large container of wet-wipes on the counter as well as toothbrushes and other bathroom items. Sherlock wandered away and came back a minute later with a box of hair color, “I think I’ll look good as a ginger.”

“I don’t think you need to dye your hair Sherlock. I like it already.” John did. Sherlock’s hair was amazing, soft, lush, silky.

“I’ll save it for when we need it John. We’ll just wander for a few days and wait to hear from Mycroft.” Their last stop was a grocer. The caravan had a small complement of tiny pots and pans to go with the miniscule stove. John carefully shopped for small portions of fresh food as well as re-sealable packets of other snacks. They had more than enough money to eat out three times a day of they wished but John preferred to be prepared in case they couldn’t. Finally they were as prepared as they could get. Neither man was certain this was a good idea but nothing would stop them from being together so they climbed in, buckled up, flipped a coin to decide which road to follow and drove away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John! Mummy is a fool. John is a total catch!


	13. On The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have opted to roam. Mycroft is a good brother and makes a small purchase for their traveling pleasure.

It took two more towns before John felt he’d gotten everything they needed. The bed didn’t come with sheets. It had a small blanket on top of it but when John checked and found the lack he made Sherlock search out an appropriate shop and remedied the situation. John also picked up a small stack of heavy cotton flat sheets sized for cribs. Sherlock was curious but elected to wait and see what his John would do with them. He was always a surprise and Sherlock enjoyed it.

John made Sherlock wait while he remade the bed with new pillows, a gently patterned sheet set, and a big heavy duvet because Sherlock liked the weight of it. New bath towels had also been acquired then they had to search out a site to service their new home, filling the water-tank, checking their cooking fuel and generally making a big deal out of their new baby.

Once the bedding had been taken care of and all the reservoirs had been appropriately filled, groceries were on-board, and clothing stored John felt they were ready to get going. By the next town they realized they had no flatware, nor plates or anything even remotely like that. Sherlock found a supplier and the men went on yet another shopping expedition which was mostly John putting things back on the shelf as everything caught the excited eye of the six foot tall five year old who practically bounced up and down the aisles grabbing everything to stuff in their cart, “Sherlock we don’t have much storage space. Why would we need a portable wine-making kit? You barely drink. Just stop! We already have kitchen knives. Fine. One meat cleaver. A small one. No! We don’t need a roll out artificial lawn! For heaven’s sake Sherlock! What are we going to do with a set of nesting woks? You don’t cook! Oh, that little toaster is perfect, well done Sherlock.”

John was ready to put Sherlock in the corner for a time-out by the time they got to the register. Thankfully a human worked there and accepted John’s stack of money without batting an eye. Sherlock was still trying to sneak things into the check-out pile and John let him get away with a multi-pack of lighters as well as a pair of plush bumblebees on a string for the rear-view mirror.

To make up for his behavior Sherlock went to a computer store and bought them a new laptop and by dint of lying his face off got them a new mobile too under the combined name of Sean Hotson. “That’s not even funny Sherlock.”

“It’s a little bit funny. I can’t wait to call Mycroft and we can’t use our old mobiles, they could be tracked.” Sherlock was giggling a bit to himself as he settled himself in for the drive. John was now looking for a place to bunk down for the night and if Sherlock could get their new laptop working they could use the occasional hotspot to search out campsites to try. Sherlock was laughing maniacally as he set up their personal accounts and John groaned to himself. If their mobile was now registered under ‘Hotson’ what other names was Sherlock going to label them with? Suddenly the crazy laughter stopped, “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you sing for me?” Sherlock sounded almost bashful again and when John glanced over there was a pink tinge to the taller man’s cheek.

“You like the way I sing?”

Sherlock’s blush grew a bit deeper but he said, “I was very moved when you sang. It was very romantic.” John grinned and watched the road as the self-proclaimed high-functioning-sociopath/sentiment-despising detective asked to be sung to. John thought for a minute but could come up with a song off the top of his head. Finally Sherlock switched on the radio and searched around until he found a station that made John’s head nod. John sang along with the songs they heard as they drove and Sherlock smiled the entire time.

It was getting very late in the day. They stopped at a fast-food restaurant to take advantage of the free wireless, found a camping site not too far away and got a spot for the night. Sherlock hogged the small table, still playing with their new mobile and laptop while John stowed their most recent purchases away and tried to figure out the stove so he could make tea. Once the tiny kettle was on John happily broke out the little pots and pans and made them dinner. He’d forgotten to get seasonings but they could get salt and pepper tomorrow.

It wasn’t a complete disaster. John hadn’t washed the new pots before he used them and there was a bit of an odd taste to the steak but the salad was crisp and the veg was market fresh. Sherlock ate everything and John was pleased as he helped wash up as well. It didn’t take long to clean up their tiny new home and finally they sank down together onto their small sofa, Sherlock’s arm tight around John’s shoulder, “We have to begin our search as soon as we can John. It will be much more difficult not being directly with Mycroft but I do know how to get into his system. He never admits it but he always leaves a backdoor for me in all his security measures. I’ll find this one and once I do we can begin determining who to trust and who to be suspicious of.”

John nodded. This was all terribly risky business but there was no help for it. Moriarty was a true madman, not just disassociated with his emotions like Sherlock had been but truly mad! If the man on the roof had been poor Richard Brook then there were now so many variables to fear that not seizing every single happy second that came their way would be foolish. Right that minute John was happy and he wanted to savor it.

“Want to go for a walk?” The campsite featured walking paths that started at the end of the general parking-lot near the site office. Sherlock nodded and stood, helping John into a new coat. The evening was gentle and the walk was refreshing. They passed many people by and just soaked in the peace of the moment. It was nearly full dark when they got back, fumbling a bit with their door key but laughing softly to one another.

John led Sherlock directly back to their small bedroom and stood there to kiss Sherlock until both men were swaying gently, their hands stroking over their lover in a slow exploration. John peeled Sherlock out of his clothes, finding that removing a single thin teeshirt to be so much easier than unbuttoning Sherlock from one of his suits, “Easy access. I like that.” he said before biting one of Sherlock’s nipples gently.

Sherlock couldn’t help gasping a bit at the pleasure shock before pulling away and staring down at his husband with burning eyes. Sherlock was suddenly oh so hungry for his lover. He stripped John bare and attempted to push the smaller man back onto the bed but John resisted, “One second.”

John tugged down the duvet and sheets then teased Sherlock by bending over to fish out one of the small cotton sheets he had procured and then stored in the small cupboard by the bed. John spread it out on the mattress below the pillows, “Sheet saver. We won’t have to be doing laundry quite so much.” He set out the wet-wipes too and Sherlock’s grin was predatory.

Oh brilliant, brilliant John! The last thing Sherlock wanted to worry about was sex stains. He was much more interested in creating them! Pushing the now unresisting doctor down Sherlock proceeded to make as much of a mess as possible until the wee hours of the morning before falling asleep on John, both men sated and deeply content if a bit raw in spots.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft was not having such a wonderful day. He was worried, deeply worried, and he couldn’t hide it from Gregory, he never could. The DI had sharp eyes and he’d learned to read Mycroft with almost distressing ease, no matter what façade Mycroft hid behind. “My dearest, I must go speak with Mummy.”

“I’m coming with Myc. No, don’t shake your head. I’ve known John and Sherlock a long time. They’re not here to defend John so I’m going to do it. Damn it Myc, I’m so angry! John is a good man, one of the best men we know! There’s something rotten here, I want to know where your mum got her intel from!” Mycroft was exceedingly proud that he’d managed to land such an astute and protective man as his own dearest Detective Inspector. Gregory’s honor was as impeccable as John’s and Mycroft understood all over again why his little brother would choose his soldier over his family.

“I’ve done what I could to make John and Sherlock as comfortable as possible. I’m certain Sherlock will contact us as soon as he’s sorted things out on his own. He and John are survivors. While I would much rather have their skills here they are no safer in this place than they are out wandering together. As a matter of fact we’ve probably just saved ourselves a fair amount of mental trauma by allowing them to leave. Sherlock doesn’t fare well being contained for any length of time. Only John has ever had the endurance to keep up with him.” Dumping a ton of meaningless money on his brother and buying them a medium-rate caravan was all Mycroft could do in the short time they had. At least John had his gun.

Anthea had protested. She didn’t like splitting them up. John would never know but Mycroft’s PA felt deep admiration for the doctor and worried about him just as Mycroft worried for Sherlock. If she’d been forewarned she would have probably gotten them a caravan that had been refitted to survive the apocalypse and even then she would have been figuring out other ways to protect them. She was heading back in the city right now to begin going through everything to search out the mole. If anyone could find them it would be Anthea. Mycroft trusted her the way he trusted Gregory who now walked quickly beside him as they made their way through the building.

Mummy was in the music room with Papa who had clearly just found her as well. Mycroft heard his father’s voice, “Why Violet? Tell me what you said to John.”

“It doesn’t matter what I said it only matters that he leaves. He cannot have my son. He is not worthy.” sniffed Violet. “I had that detestable Watson checked out thoroughly.”

Sieger looked sorrowfully at his wife and her expression went from haughty to faint concern, “Sieger?”

“You have gotten your wish my wife and John has left. Sherlock went with him, very happily. I hugged them goodbye. They’re in danger Violet, that’s why they were here. We’re supposed to safeguard our children, not drive them out! Violet! What did you learn that made you so unyielding? Did you check the facts? You know how I insist upon it.” a shadow of chagrin crossed the woman’s face but she stood tall and turned away. Sieger didn’t let her ignore him, “Tell me what you learned Violet. Now.”

“He’s unemployed Sieger! He can’t keep a job. He has no significant talent, he’s completely unknown to anyone of quality, his family is filled with drunken reprobates, and the only reason he wanted to marry our baby is money! More than one source confirmed that fact! He’s a trollop! His reputation is repugnant! He will break my baby’s heart the next time he steps out on his marriage and how long will that take? He was still dating a WOMAN while married to my boy! This man is bad news and he will bring my baby to a terrible end! He cannot be good for Sherlock!” Violet was convinced; it showed in every word she spoke.

By the time she was done both Mycroft and Greg were falling over themselves to explain John Watson. Finally Greg elbowed Mycroft and said his piece, “Now Mrs. Holmes, I know finding out your kids were married was a shock but there is a lot your reports didn’t tell you about John Watson. He saved Sherlock’s life, did you know that? Do you know what Sherlock was doing before he met John? Killing himself, one needle at a time, because he was bored. Sherlock was a drug addict; he’s been in an out of rehab for over a decade. That’s how I met him. I hauled his emaciated body out of dozens of drug dens myself! Nothing helped until the day John Watson walked into Sherlock’s life.”

“Mycroft, tell me this isn’t true! Sherlock would never resort to something low like narcotics! You told me he was traveling abroad, pursuing music!” Violet’s hands flew to her mouth and Sieger had to sit down, his face pale and tears welling in his gentle eyes.

“What Gregory has told you is very true. Sherlock made me promise not to tell. Disappointing you would have been more than someone in his condition could have dealt with. Sherlock couldn’t stop himself; he slipped over and over again. When John moved in Sherlock never slipped again, not once.”

“Your information about Doctor Watson’s employment is skewed as well Mummy. John prefers to work with Sherlock on his cases. They work together full-time now Mummy, the way they should have for years. They’ve shed blood for one another many times; they are strong for each other, always. Sherlock is a better man for knowing John Watson who has more honor in him than nearly any individual I’ve ever met.” Mycroft was very upset to have to explain this to his mother. John had been with Sherlock for nearly half a decade. Why had she chosen now to act out?

Violet tried to turn away but Sieger caught her arm, “What is it Violet. You thought of something.”

Violet hesitated and then confessed, “Doctor Murray was here. He knows of John Watson. Bill, his son, he used to know John and spoke of him. Apparently John saved Bill’s life and nearly lost his own.”

Sieger was looking at his wife with such disappointment that all her hauteur evaporated. He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes, “Once again you have used the facts to fit the theory you prefer only this time the resultant cost might be the life of our youngest son. You planned this altercation did you not? Once you knew they were coming you didn’t ask about why, you merely saw an opportunity. You didn’t know about the marriage but you didn’t need to, did you. You already didn’t care for Sherlock’s John and you deliberately machinated the situation to produce the result you determined would be most expeditious. That was very wrong of you Violet. You must never endanger the children.”

“Mummy did you know that Doctor Murray saw John while he was here?” Violet shook her head mutely and Mycroft sighed, “Mummy John Watson was a Captain in the army. He was honorably discharged after sustaining a fatal wound, yes fatal. He died three times on the table before he was brought back and it was young Bill that he saved before he was shot by a sniper. John was invalided back to London with extreme Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He was in therapy for years to help manage it. You profoundly triggered him and he had an episode. He hurt himself, he couldn’t help it. Sherlock found him unconscious in their room. Doctor Murray had to bandage John up. What John experienced wasn’t much different than having a heart attack. Unless Sherlock can help him John will most likely re-experience night terrors for several weeks.”

Greg was furious, “Myc, tell her why we’re here.”

Mycroft did so dispassionately. He told his parents about Sherlock’s business and how John helped him. He told them about Moriarty and the deadly games he liked to play with Sherlock and how John had been taken again and again because even the psychopath knew that John and Sherlock really loved one another, even before they did. Then Mycroft told his mother how they’d discovered that Moriarty wasn’t dead and that Sherlock had spent years undercover to save John’s life as well as Mrs. Hudson and Greg, and how John had mourned the entire time, never stopping. He told her how John sat by Sherlock’s hospital bed time after time, selflessly caring for her youngest son, giving up work to make time to look out for his best friend.

“Why didn’t I know this? Why did he keep this from me?” Violet was shocked.

“Sherlock has always been more than you’ve allowed him to be. He is not me. I fit in our world but Sherlock does not! He crafted stories you could believe in to hide his actions and I helped because he would have done it anyway and I would have lost track of him. John keeps Sherlock safer than I’ve ever managed. We came here because there are no safe places left until we can review our protocols and assure ourselves of our security. You made it very clear to John that he should not be here; he is a man of honor. He left. Papa was correct. Sherlock went with him and eagerly. There is nowhere in the world they would not find one another and they would never part from the other willingly.”

Violet was still struggling with her misperception of John, “The money….he wants Sherlock’s fortune.”

“No he does not. John despises money. He’s fiercely independent. Sherlock could care less for money as well; he cares for nothing but music, solving mysteries, and John. He was practically living on the streets before John! John has kept a roof over their heads and debtors off their backs for years. He pays all of Sherlock’s bills though they aren’t his own, makes sure Sherlock stays well, and asks for nothing in return. Mummy, your sources are tainted. Tell me, why did you accept that knowledge without asking Sherlock or even myself about John?”

Violet refused to answer, even when Sieger tried to encourage her. Greg was frustrated, “I don’t have anything good to contribute to this conversation right now. Myc, I’ll be waiting for you in your rooms. I….can’t.” Greg left and Mycroft let him. Greg needed time to process his anger. He never liked to let it rule him so Mycroft waited until the door shut behind his retreating husband.

Violet sat herself in a high-backed chair. Sieger went to the window and looked out while Mycroft stayed where he was. “Bring Sherlock back Mycroft. I will speak to him.” she said finally.

Mycroft hesitated only a second, “I cannot Mummy. Sherlock and John are now in the wind. Neither of them will be found if they do not wish it. Sherlock will contact me when he is ready and no sooner. I had thought to remain here in safety while we determined who is our enemy from who is our friend. There are many faces to examine and we can trust no one.”

Now Violet was finally understanding the depth of consequence her words to John had wrought, “What do you mean Mycroft?”

“I mean that our enemy is world-class and that he has already tried to kill Sherlock and John several times. He thought he succeeded and we thought he was dead! Our villain is NOT dead and the two people he desires most are now rattling around England in a motorhome! We fled here Mummy, to be safe from treachery from those around us. John does not feel safe here so he would not stay and Sherlock would never allow John to be alone. They are together Mummy, married or no, Sherlock and John are as good as one person and have been since the beginning.”

“It can’t possibly be. That person has nothing to offer someone as stellar as Sherlock! Your brother is one-of-a-kind, both of you are too good to have given yourselves to such……people!” Violet looked at Mycroft in dismay, “Mycroft, why did you get married this way. Why did you arrange for you brother to marry in this way? If these men were so worthy why have they remained hidden from us all this time? Why has Sherlock never spoken of ….John….before this? Why haven’t you mentioned your partner?” Mycroft winced at his mother’s very excellent questions.

There was a long silence before Mycroft stood and spoke with a voice that started off clear, “For my part Gregory did not wish to have it known that we were even dating, I would have put notice in every social calendar there is if I’d had my way. He’s a proud man; he has risen in the ranks by virtue of his hard work and intelligence, not because his boyfriend works for the British Government! He is committed to his cause, in his own way he is as honorable as John. Both John and Greg have qualities to which you have given no attention. You have not even attempted it. For Sherlock, he does not even speak to me of John. Since Sherlock left home he became a very different man. His difficulties as a child have only grown as he’s gotten older, he cannot interact with others easily but from the moment they met John has allowed Sherlock to simply be, well, Sherlock! They are friends, very good friends, the best friends you can imagine. Their love is sincere and has already survived many trials but their personal relationship has only recently changed. This would have been Sherlock’s first chance to let you get to know the man he’s only just finally admitted he loves.”

His voice was almost breaking by now. Mycroft’s heart wasn’t as tender as Sherlock’s despite the younger man’s insistence that he didn’t have one. Even it though ached at the knowledge of how hurt Sherlock must have felt when their beloved and much admired mother laid waste to his lover’s psyche. Sherlock wouldn’t show the hurt to anyone except possibly John. It would just be another of the many hidden wounds that bled his little brother out a little more every day and had since he was small. Mycroft had learned to his despair that Sherlock could not heal on his own; it had taken the love and attentions from a nearly unnoticeable sandy-haired man with a cane and cheeky blue eyes to repair the damage. John was Sherlock’s sovereign cure for his damaged soul.

Violet looked troubled and turned to her husband. Sieger was red-eyed and tears flowed freely from them. Violet looked a bit puzzled and wiped her husband’s tears away gently. He took her damp fingers in her hand and kissed them softly, “Darling, listen to me carefully. Do you remember the talk we had about love?”

“Yes Sieger. I love you. You love me. We love our children. We must never endanger the children.” Violet spoke by rote and Mycroft’s heart ached again.

“Sherlock loves John. You must never hurt John. Mycroft loves Gregory. You must never hurt Gregory. They’re our children now, so what do we do with our children?” Sieger kissed her fingers again.

“We take care of them.” said Violet and her shoulders sagged. “Oh Sieger, I got it so wrong this time didn’t I? I thought I was right. I was sure of it. I did the research, I swear I did. Oh Sieger.”

Mycroft left his parents there to sort the matter out between them and retreated quietly to his room where Gregory waited for him. His husband was still angry but before he could deal with the explanation required Mycroft took his husband in his arms and got Greg to hold him tight, “Promise me that you will always do what you do and keep me right.”

“I will love, I have haven’t I? Since we met all those years ago, you’re not your mum, I see how it is and I’ve been thinking about that while I waited for you. Sherlock’s problem is real, isn’t it, I mean, he’s not really a sociopath but there’s a broken switch there, in all of you. You got it from your mum.” Mycroft nodded miserably. Perhaps he’d gotten off lighter than his mother but Mycroft understood clearly how very flawed they all were. Sherlock suffered the worst from it because he was so close to normal it hurt. If he’d been a little more disconnected life would not have been the brutal lesson it had been for the perceptive genius.

Gregory had learned to his dismay that Mycroft was not a nice person, exactly as Sherlock had told him. Mycroft was cruel, manipulative, secretive, and could be downright ghastly. The stories he told Greg sometimes made the hair on the DI’s arms stand up, the horror of what the man he loved was easily capable of at first driving the older man away. Greg had come back on his own but it had taken many months of patient discussions before he finally agreed to resume dating Mycroft. They’d set up behavioral rules and whenever there was a gray area Mycroft always asked Gregory about it unless he wasn’t able to. After all, calls made from the middle of a war-zone to discuss the dubious morality of torturing your enemy weren’t always possible. After that, Mycroft stopped everything that Gregory found distressing, using his lover as a guidepost the exact same way Sherlock used John, and the exact same way Mummy used Papa.

Greg looked so worried, “Myc they’re out there alone. I know he’s not but I’ve always thought of Sherlock as kind of my kid. Maybe I should go speak with Sieger, see how he’s holding up. Mycroft nodded, Gregory’s instincts had proven to be impeccable on many occasions. Taking his husband by the hand Mycroft took him to find his parents.

They were in their suite, “I got Violet to lay down for a bit, she needs to think.” said the older man. He sat down on a well-worn reading chair and looked at the two men, “I think she understands what she did wasn’t well thought out.” Greg was instantly reminded of Sherlock’s constantly whispered question “Bit not good?” and how John would always tell him yes or no. “Tell me why Doctor Murray was here.”

Oh. No one had brought the matter of Sherlock’s health up but Sieger was too canny to allow his eldest son to prevaricate and pinned him with a fatherly glare. Mycroft spoke, “Sherlock has become ill in recent months. The symptoms are all over the place, his episodes manifest in a number of different ways, none of the specialists who have seen him can explain it. John gave up work at my request to stay with Sherlock twenty-four hours a day seven days a week to make sure he’s alright. John wanted nothing for doing this. I paid him a considerable amount regardless but he would have cared for Sherlock no matter what. However I feel there is no need for concern, the preliminary reports I have reviewed support my initial theory as to the problem. Sherlock will be fine, we’re just double-checking.”

Sieger looked upset all over again, covering his time weathered face with his hands. After he dropped them back into his lap he looked back to his eldest son, “This enemy, you didn’t mind bringing him to your mother and I?”

Mycroft looked at his father, “We are vulnerable to those who would harm us, vipers. This is the safest place, with you. The staff is known to all of us, very well. If there is a traitor here they will easily be found. The same cannot be said of anywhere else. If we were to go into isolation we would be cutting ourselves off from all that would assist us and still be no safer from our enemy. We are here to be safe and to protect you. If our enemy decides to strike, he would not spare you. It’s better that we stay together.”

“What about Sherlock and John? Aren’t they in more danger out there in the world?” Their shared fear had no easy answer but Gregory seemed to find one.

“John’s sort of unkillable. I mean, I’m sure you could if he let you but getting him to agree hasn’t worked for anyone so far. Sherlock’s pretty much the same. There’s nothing worse that pissing off the both of them together because John can get very angry and then he stops telling Sherlock not to do things. After their honeymoon whoever has made them leave Baker Street is going to be very, very unhappy. I swear Sherlock’s secret talent is annoying people to death! Damn can he be aggravating.” Mycroft had to smile at Gregory’s description of John and Sherlock’s departure. They were probably having a lovely time. He knew for a fact that they could be trapped together at the bottom of a well and still enjoy themselves thoroughly. It was one of their favorite memories.

“Our enemy does not know that we know, at least, we can hope not. We bank on nothing. Sherlock and John will contact us to tell us where they are when they are ready. I will broach the topic of returning but John tends to be very stubborn and it may take a while. Perhaps we’ll even find it advantageous to have them out there. We can only play the game with the cards we are dealt. John and Sherlock will keep each other safe.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock and John were driving each other insane. The cab was too short for Sherlock to sit in the passenger seat with the laptop on his knees and he whinged about it for three towns. Their backsides hurt and Sherlock had lost their bottle of paracetamols somewhere. John was too peevish to stop and buy another one because the first one was brand new and John was certain he could locate it the next time they stopped.

They weren’t stopping.

Sherlock griped about every place John tried to park so John kept going until things had become tense. After that being forced to stop for traffic lights or similar it became some kind of strange stand-off and it for some reason became forbidden to park.

John drove for hours while they squabbled but finally the scream from mother-nature insisted that he pull off into a rest-area to use their tiny facilities. He was still in there when the caravan lurched into motion. Sherlock was driving! “FUCKING HELL SHERLOCK I’M ON THE POT!”

Finishing his business as soon as he could John made it back to the cab where Sherlock pretended John wasn’t there and just kept driving as if he were alone. John slunk off to the back and strapped himself in one of the seats, paperback in hand and began to ignore his husband back.

Of course Sherlock cracked first and it took no time at all. He loved attention and there was no one else around to give it to him. He found a pretty parkland to stop beside and parked the caravan smoothly. After sitting for a minute up front Sherlock skulked over and sidled up until he was right beside John who continued ignoring him loudly, his face practically buried in his paperback as silence screamed at the tall pale man beside him. Sherlock dropped to his knees, “John I’m sorry. I know I’m being awful. I’m sorry!”

John sighed and put down the paperback he hadn’t even been reading. He’d been rustling the pages and harrumphing but not reading. He looked at Sherlock’s sad face and sighed again, “I’m sorry too Sherlock. I guess all of this stuff is finally beginning to sink in. What do we do?”

Sherlock hadn’t been expecting John to turn to him for advice and comfort. That was normally John’s demesne. He remained kneeling beside John, leaning forward and resting his head in John’s lap while he thought. “We need to find Moriarty, that’s our overall goal. We need to find out if the game is still on or if he’s moved along, either way we need to stop him. We need to check our defenses as it were, we’ve left the family behind but your family is still entirely exposed and completely ignorant of their possible endangerment. Still, Moriarty paid no attention to anyone outside of London so there’s a good chance that will remain the same. We need to acquire information in a discrete fashion from someplace where the amount of high-level information we are accessing is commonplace. We need to review every single individual of our acquaintance and find out if they have been influenced by someone outside. Moriarty is fond of stealing voices and lives; we need to find out if anyone who can affect us is a puppet.”

John sat back and thought about that. Sherlock didn’t sit up. Instead he shuffled ahead on his knees until he was wedged between John’s thighs, leaning against his stomach and chest, also thinking. John kept running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls thoughtfully, “Victor.” he said eventually.

“What?” Sherlock sat on his heels and looked at John curiously.

“Victor Trevor’s facility has all those poncy dishes on the roof of the building; his researchers are online twenty-four hours a day with all sorts of places INCLUDING the sorts of places you and I might want to peek. Phalen was going on about it.” Sherlock frowned at the thought of Phalen speaking to John about anything but that was alright now because he and John were married and he could tell people to fuck off and to stay away from HIS doctor. Sherlock’s arms snaked possessively around John’s waist and gripped him tight.

It was a good idea. They could creep back into London easily. Sherlock was good at that sort of thing. Victor wouldn’t even need to be troubled by them. Sherlock saw eight different ways of accessing the closed-off building. Once he was in it would be no trouble at all to set themselves up in one of the temporarily abandoned labs. “That’s brilliant John. Time to get to London.”


	14. Thin Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock now have a goal and resources they need to access. Their destination awaits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how I imagine Victor Trevor in my mind. I make him kind of a jerk but at least he's easy on the eyes.
> 
> Thanks Fassy, I don't own you or this image but I'd like to.

The drive back to London took a couple of days, mostly because they’d gotten over their parking issues and decided to park a bit longer than necessary in one or two relatively secluded locations for a bit of marital fun. After they’d recovered two tousled but grinning newlyweds discussed their possible future actions. “You have to call Mycroft. Greg is probably chewing his fingernails off by now; you know he’s a secret worrier.”

Greg was a little startled when his pocket began to ring with an odd song he suddenly recognized as “Secret Agent Man” but the name, what the devil? Sean Hotson? With a grin he answered the phone, “No way in hell did your husband choose that name OR that song.”

“As a matter of fact I did the choosing Lestrade, listen carefully.” Sherlock quickly outlined the rough plan he and John had come up with. “We’re nearly in London now. We’re going to rent a spot and take public transportation of various sorts until we’re in. Use this line to contact us; don’t use the other lines unless you want the call recorded. Once I’m inside I can find a secure way to contact Mycroft and then we’ll begin.”

“You’re sneaking in?” Lestrade had issues about that.

“No. I could but John said no. We’re going in the front door. He’s got a plan. I don’t like it but it’s sure to work. We’ll be in and online less than an hour after we make contact.” The camper was making Sherlock feel queasy finally as he rang off. He called someone else who owed him a favor, using a code-phrase as was so very useful when you were a Holmes. The person at the other end asked no questions and would say not a word. When John pulled into the secure storage lot Sherlock had arranged for their camper he had to sit for a minute while John putted around muttering to himself about costumes and deception almost angrily, “You don’t have to you know.”

“No I do. We’re not doing it the other way, it’s too much. I couldn’t deal with it. You know why I’m doing this, you don’t react the same way I do. This is the better choice. Please. I need your help here alright? You know this is going to be hard for me no matter what!” Sherlock felt awful and went right over to give John a loving embrace and a tender kiss, holding the smaller man until he didn’t look so angry anymore.

“You can do this John. I know it. It won’t be easy for either of us but it’s only hints and suggestions, never anything outright. It’s all on him after that.” John nodded into Sherlock’s shirt and finally heaved a sigh. “Let’s get changed and get going then.”

The train, a bus, a taxi and they were there. John walked right up to reception, “Tell Victor Trevor that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes have exactly fifteen minutes to discuss a proposition with him.”

She smiled prettily at him, “Mr. Trevor is in a meeting…..”

John snapped his head toward her, their eyes locking together. The receptionist sat back and John said with politely clipped words, “Phalen. Contact her. Tell her our names. She will interrupt Victor’s meeting and take fifteen minutes with us now. Call.”  
She called. Two minutes later they were being escorted directly to Victor Trevor’s office. He was standing behind his desk smirking, “Glad you came to you senses….”

“Shut up. We’re doubling our fee. You’re going to give us one hundred percent access to everything in this facility so we can find out how you’re being bled of millions of pounds of profit. We’ll need access codes for all your security protocols as well as full access to your computer and related systems. Give us one week of full discretion and we’ll have your problem fixed and your bank accounts back to their regularly scheduled gluttony.” John stood there, back ramrod straight as he delivered his terms to Victor Trevor who seemed mildly stunned. 

John was garbed in a gray pin-striped suit jacket with a white shirt neatly buttoned to the top. He wasn’t wearing his uniform yet John still exuded a forceful kind of command that radiated from every single pore. It was as devastatingly effective on Victor Trevor as it was on Sherlock. “One week. Double the fee. I can do that.” John’s brisk nod seemed to snap Victor partially out of his daze, “I didn’t think you knew much about computers.”

“Not my area, Sherlock will handle most of the technical aspects. I’m better with the heavy lifting.” There was nothing insinuating about those words except that there was. A very faint flush rose in Victor’s cheeks as John held his gaze steadily, the word CAPTAIN screaming from every inch of the small man. Both John and Sherlock noticed the nearly silent but shaky exhale of breath Victor Trevor released when John spoke. “I’ll need a tour of the facility as well.”

“We’ll get Sherlock set up and then I’ll take you both through myself. After all, you need all the codes right? You may as well get them straight from the source.” Victor Trevor was giving John a friendly smile and John nodded sharply back. One quick call to one of his PA’s and Victor Trevor cleared his schedule for the rest of the day.

Sherlock responded to his cue. Sounding bored he rattled off a list of requirements that Victor finally had to begin writing down. List made and flirtatious smile engaged Victor Trevor was practically panting as he willingly handed over the keys to his kingdom for just one more minute with John. “Let’s go Sherlock.” John turned smartly on his heel, the other two men following behind him as if pulled on a string. John paused and waited for Victor, “Go on, we’re waiting.”

Victor practically babbled the entire time they walked and John paid close attention to him, inserting the odd sharp word here and there when he required clarification. Soon they were in a small control room filled with various types of equipment that made John think of those sci-fi movies where things like that go kaflooey and the entire cast dies. It wasn’t a good feeling but Sherlock finally looked excited and tried to hide it so John distracted Victor once again with small comments.

Phalen appeared with the much discarded tablet which Sherlock relieved her of before Victor sent her right away. Sherlock kept his grimace to himself, they’d been hoping for that. As soon as it was in Sherlock’s hand John stood straight once again, nearly snapping to attention and taking Victor Trevor with him, “Tour. Now.”

Victor’s flush wasn’t so subtle anymore. It was obvious that Phalen wasn’t the only one that had a thing for military men. With his usual quiet efficiency John Watson had managed to completely bowl Victor Trevor over. It felt strange not to have the road moving beneath them, Sherlock was beginning to feel queasy again. Maybe it was London. All the fresh air in the country had obviously been a relief because Sherlock had felt fine until now. The rather pungent odor of the old city was a bit of a shock to the system he supposed as he followed the pair in front of him. Victor was charming and amusing, John allowed himself to smile the tiniest bit at his quips and Sherlock’s stomach twisted. Maybe he should have had something mild to eat before they arrived. John was always going on about Sherlock’s dietary habits. Still, the queasiness was here to stay apparently and their gambit was not yet finished.

John was disgusted. Victor was everything John loathed. Even though Victor was clearly a vastly intelligent man, and John did admire intelligence, somehow he came across as crassly greedy, someone for whom enough would never be enough. John knew that if he wanted to he could have Victor bent over any piece of furniture in the building whenever he felt like it. The image alone was enough to make John’s stomach twist and he couldn’t help but glance back to look at his husband whenever Victor looked away. He needed those little glimpses to stay strong. Sherlock looked awful.

John didn’t need a tour of the facility. They just wanted to spend some time with Victor Trevor in case it took a bit longer than they expected to get him interested in John instead of Sherlock. Now they were just letting John’s hooks sink in a bit and then they would go to work. “Are you free for dinner tonight?” asked Victor softly as he showed them a test laboratory. Sherlock was inspecting some of the equipment used and was very distracted.

John looked right into Victor’s eyes, “How’s seven?” Victor grinned and nodded. “I’ll send you an address to meet.” Victor was content to lead them back to the main control room and leave them with the control manager. Sherlock badgered the woman incessantly until she showed him everything he wanted to see. It took a tiny bit of extra effort but Sherlock finally managed to aggravate her enough that she left for a fifteen minute break. “Dinner at seven.” reported John.

“Excellent, well done John. This should be ready by then.” Sherlock began typing quickly and with rather distressing ease soon had a program in place that would allow John and Sherlock to remotely access anything they wished. If they were caught peeking around the highly secured sites Sherlock planned to look at their pursuers would be led on a merry chase all over the globe. John shook his head at the complexity, “You made me watch all those spy movies John. This is your own doing.”

Once the program had come to life and whirled off into the mysterious workings of the ‘net Sherlock stood and went over to John. “Five minutes maximum Sherlock, no later!” Sherlock kissed John tenderly and nodded, “Back to Baker Street then.”

John and Sherlock bid farewell to a broadly smiling Victor who nearly ignored Sherlock in favor of speaking to John, “Till seven.” said John who turned on his heel and just left, Sherlock following behind. Both men heard the shaky exhalation of a very excited Victor Trevor as the door shut behind them. John whispered, “He’s probably wanking now.”

Sherlock snorted out a laugh but felt the queasiness from earlier coming back, “John, I need to get home.”

“I know love, you’re not well. I can see it. Come on then.” They caught a cab and John rubbed Sherlock’s back for the entire ride, trying to sooth the nausea away, “Almost home love.”

“Can I just go lay down?” asked Sherlock weakly and John nodded, becoming very concerned now. “I think I just need a bit of a nap, too much driving. This taxi isn’t helping.” No it wasn’t but it was the fastest way to Baker Street, they’d be there in less than a minute now.

They got home and let themselves in quietly though there was no one around. John checked the flat as best he could while Sherlock wobbled to their bedroom to collapse gratefully onto their bed, “I’ve missed this.” he sighed. John came over and helped Sherlock out of his clothes and under the blanket, “I’ll just sleep for a little while. Wake me up in time.”

“I will love, don’t worry.” John stroked Sherlock’s hair until he fell asleep and then went to shower and get ready for dinner. John had to brace himself against the bathroom sink after shaving closely, tonight would be the tricky part but perhaps Sherlock’s illness could be played to their advantage. John went to wake Sherlock at the last possible moment but was relieved when a much improved consulting detective opened his eyes. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you John.” they shared a long and loving kiss, Sherlock pulling John down on top of him until both of them had to admit that separating was necessary if they were at all going to remain committed to their plan. Sherlock dressed in his tightest shirt and trousers so fitted John wondered how he could sit comfortably then the taller man added a dark blue velvet coat over his ensemble and John found it very difficult to breathe.

John finished dressing as well and this time it was Sherlock breathing hard as he took in John’s evening choices of a charcoal suit with black pinstripes and simple white shirt. His hair was still a bit tousled from his shower earlier but when he was about to comb it Sherlock stopped him, “Let me.” Sherlock took a bit of styling product and ruffled John’s hair so his fringe hung just a bit over his forehead. John still looked neat and tidy but that hint of dishevelment was enough to make Sherlock kiss him ardently before allowing him to wash his hands and get their coats.

John was seated at the table when Victor Trevor arrived. The man was smiling in a sultry fashion but that ebbed away the second Sherlock slid onto the curved bench next to John, “Hi Sherl.” said Victor with some confusion. 

John looked at Victor with surprise, “I thought it would be easier to talk about your problem if we were all together.” Victor’s face was enjoyably unhappy, he’d clearly been ready to use all his best moves on John, the suit he was wearing practically screamed ‘sexual predator’ but he shifted gears smoothly and nodded briskly.

“Sherlock has some questions he needs answers too so pay attention.” John didn’t exactly suggest that there might be some kind of cuddly reward in it for Victor but when you were dealing with a particularly greedy person, a hint of a hint was enough. Victor paid attention and answered all of Sherlock’s questions while John made notes on the now almost talismanic tablet. They painted Victor a picture, truthfully explaining to him that he was being done in by his own but also telling him they needed a few days to make sure they got everyone. Victor was once again more than willing to give them carte blanche on all their examinations and usage of his resources. He had already lost half a year’s worth of profits entirely, it they could solve this for him it would be worth all they asked for and more. Plus, there might be John.

There would never be John. John was even more disgusted when he had to maintain eye-contact with the repellant piece of walking avarice seated next to him. Sherlock’s foot was planted squarely on John’s and it was uncomfortable yet comforting to be stepped on whenever Sherlock became too agitated. Sherlock’s program was rooting away, seeking out all the information that Sherlock would need to make a determination regarding their safety as a family. They needed to string Victor along until it was done. If they lost his goodwill and interest, they’d lose legitimate access to his resources and they needed those.

By the time dinner was done even Victor noticed that Sherlock was noticeably greener. “Sherl you look like hell.” 

John looked Sherlock over quickly, concern changing everything in his demeanor, “He’s been ill lately. We’d better get him back to the flat. All his meds are there.” They were in the motorhome. John decided to read up on everything Sherlock had been on and to see about suspending his pharmaceutical support system, especially since it didn’t seem to make a bit of difference. Doctor Watts had left a card, when things were a bit less murky John would have a sit-down with him. He’d watch Sherlock carefully to make sure he suffered no adverse effects from being taken off his regime without preparation.

“Ill, what do you mean ill?” Victor looked uncomfortable and inched away a bit.

“Nothing contagious it seems. He’s just been ill. I’m going to call it a night and get him looked after. We’ll be back tomorrow.” Victor seemed more than willing to allow them to leave, Sherlock weaving just a bit as John guided him out of the restaurant. They paid the bill on the way out, not wanting to give Victor any further cause to be bitter with them for way the evening had turned out. Sherlock got sick outside in the alley, managing to make it behind a large bin before anyone could witness the indignity of it all. John cleaned him up and got a taxi after only a few tries.

Once they made it home John got Sherlock to shower and get into fresh pajamas while John made weak tea and got Sherlock to eat a few saltine crackers. A long cuddle on the sofa followed and Sherlock slowly uncurled and relaxed against John, “That didn’t quite go to plan.” he said apologetically.

“That’s alright. Victor still hasn’t turned us away and we only need to play nice until your program whatsit does whatever thing that it’s doing. Then it’s back into the camper and on the road again, right?” John pet Sherlock’s curls and kissed his forehead. When Sherlock was curled up in their bed John went through the flat once more, locking everything tight and searching for surveillance devices. John just assumed he couldn’t be paranoid enough but was satisfied at length when he found absolutely nothing. 

John got ready for bed and slid in behind Sherlock who seemed to be relaxed and breathing easy, he wasn’t asleep though, “My back is cold.” John snuggled up to Sherlock’s back and held his lover tight to him while Sherlock sighed happily. John kissed the back of his neck and Sherlock did his best to curl up into a small ball so as much of John as possible was touching him.

John liked this, liked taking care of Sherlock. He didn’t mind that his husband did poorly so often, John would take care of Sherlock until the end of time if it were necessary but lots of love went a long way toward making someone feel better so John did what he could. He made Sherlock feel loved.

John stroked his hand soothingly over Sherlock’s arm, slowly sweeping up and down. Occasionally John would press his lips to Sherlock’s neck or his shoulder, and once or twice, onto the back of his head, just small sweet kisses to show how much he cared. John curled his body around Sherlock as much as he was able, pillowing the taller man’s head on his arm as he adored him silently the way he always had but that he could now demonstrate.

Sherlock felt it, felt the warm blanket of love that settled over him, rich with John’s good clean smell, and the heat of his small body. Sherlock felt treasured and cared for, and his entire body responded to the devotion that simply poured from John in an endless stream. Sherlock felt the love John had for him right down to his bones and it made him feel alive. The queasiness ebbed away and his head felt clearer and one bit at a time Sherlock simply relaxed into sleep. John held him all night.

Anthea arrived early in the morning, rapping sharply on their door and waking John in a not-pleasant way. She handed over a large tray of still warm muffins and tall cups of steaming hot coffee, so John smiled and welcomed her in. For once her mobile wasn’t in her hand, “You should go back to the manor, I can take things from here.” she asked urgently.

“No. Sherlock isn’t done. You’ll just have to do your best while we’re in town.” John didn’t want to be herded back to the decidedly much safer but less welcoming confines of the Holmes family manor. 

“I have this entire area under surveillance, can I at least convince you to wear a tracker?” well that sounded reasonable, especially when Anthea produced the smallest of devices John could ever have imagined, even with the help of all the many spy movies he loved so dearly, and handed it to him, “It will attach to any fabric once you take the backing off so I’d suggest putting it on something you’re most likely to have on you the most.”

“What are the chances of us getting kidnapped?” asked John mostly as a joke.

“How many times were you kidnapped before Sherlock killed himself?” asked Anthea bluntly. “Whoever Moriarty is he’s managed to hide from me, from Mr. Holmes, and from several other people I respect very much. You are being foolish leaving the others behind. You should go back.”

Sherlock finally came out of the bedroom, wearing pajamas and a robe. “We’re not going back until I’m finished. One more day but we’ve arranged for a week if we need it. Do what you must to watch the other, check John’s family as far as you can discretely find them. I don’t want you accidently giving our enemy a new list of targets!”

John noticed that Anthea and Sherlock rolled their eyes the same way. She pulled out her mobile and began going through information at the speed of light. “There are soft-entry points for you to find. I’ve left all the pertinent material available, check everything! If I knew who to trust it would take me no time at all but the number of people I’d let watch my back right now is extremely brief. I’ll give you a week, no more and then you MUST get back to the manor!”

Anthea very rarely spoke to either John or Sherlock so this conversation made John pay attention closely. Anthea was worried, nearly afraid. “What have you found out so far?”

“There’s definitely an insider but I can’t pin a particular person. That’s the problem with shadow governments. Everything is in the shadows, that’s the point. Somewhere in our inner circle we have a traitor but everyone is someone I thought I knew very well so this is most disturbing. Mr. Holmes and Mr. Lestrade are safe but you two are not. Don’t linger. Do whatever it is that you need to do quickly. Contact me the second you are ready and I’ll get you out of the city immediately. Did you name your caravan?”

John thought that was a weird way to end an otherwise deathly serious conversation. “Um, no we didn’t. Were we supposed to?”

Anthea shrugged and stood to leave, “I always named my vehicles. I spend so much time in them, they’re like homes. Yours actually is a home but it’s up to you.”

Sherlock saw her out, “They’re still safe aren’t they?” he asked softly.

“I checked on your brother last night, they were doing alright. Your mother wants to speak to both of you. It’s not my place to say. I just thought you should know since you haven’t had a chance to speak to Mycroft.” Anthea left without giving Sherlock a chance to respond. What could his mother have to say? She’d made her position very clear already and Sherlock wasn’t giving her a chance to hurt his marvelous John one more time. Sherlock could barely think of it, the sheer horror he’d felt when he’d seen John laying there bleeding. For a ghastly moment Sherlock had thought John was dead but he’d moved, just the tiniest bit and the world didn’t end the way it might of. Sherlock couldn’t protect John enough and even if it meant he’d never see his parents for a long time, or ever again, Sherlock would never place John in that position intentionally ever again.

They dressed quickly and ate their breakfast in silence, “Once I’ve opened the back-doors I can begin the process of elimination. Once I’ve gotten an initial list I’ll contact Mycroft and send it along. From there we can widen our search.”

John didn’t understand anything that Sherlock was about to do. As far as John was concerned Sherlock was a magician with technology. He made things do stuff John couldn’t even fathom. John’s mind just didn’t seem to work that way, he barely understood the basics of how to operate his laptop enough to manage his blog and to watch movies, and not always porn, on it. Sherlock kept it running cleanly for John who couldn’t even figure out how to do that. John’s mobile was used strictly for the most basic functions, all of which Sherlock had shown John how to do. When they’d met, texting and calling someone were all John could manage.

Sherlock suffered an internal debate for a whole minute before he gave in. He didn’t want to stress John at all but at the same time, Sherlock couldn’t keep secrets from him either, “Anthea has spoken to Mycroft. Mummy wants to speak to us.”

John was silent for a long time, just gazing off into the distance. He blinked and then he nodded, “As soon as you’re done we can go back.” and just like that John agreed. Sherlock’s heart swelled with love and pride. John was absolutely the bravest person he’d ever met, unflinching, never once taking his own person into consideration . He was entirely selfless. Sherlock loved him so much.

“We don’t have to John. I would never ask it of you. I’m telling you what Anthea told simply so you know.” Sherlock was used to not seeing his parents, they very rarely came in contact with him, both sets of lives moved in very different circles.

“She’s your mum Sherlock. We’re going to go see her.” John had decided and that was that. Sherlock spoke of it no more. John took his hand and raised it for a kiss. Sherlock smiled as John grinned up to him, “We’ve still got a wedding to plan right? You said she’d invite everyone.”

Sherlock’s smile stretched into a huge grin and he kissed John enthusiastically. “Yes. A wedding is most certainly in order, and we’ll make sure we have veto rights over the guest list.” Deal made they kissed once again before leaving for Victor Trevor’s offices.

Once again John was commanding and unyielding, and once again Victor’s personal weakness was slightly exploited as John kept him just busy enough to see that Sherlock wasn’t working on anything to do with his business. Sherlock had solved that problem in about two minutes. Phalen as well as six other employees had all been denied various applications for either advancement or pay rises, those bonuses going to whomever Victor Trevor favored at the moment. They’d retaliated with near anarchy which hit Victor Trevor in the one place he really sincerely cared about, his pocketbook.

John was willing to let them continue bleeding him out for a day or two more. All of them had been very careful to mask where they’d hidden their share of the proceeds from their scam and persecution of their nearly invisible crime would be almost impossible, even with Sherlock’s help. They could be let go but the damage they’d caused would never be repair nor would Victor Trevor have any way of recouping his temporary losses.

John didn’t mind. From what he could see Victor Trevor did very little good with his money, preferring to self-indulgently amuse himself while hoarding as much wealth as possible. Even Sherlock, who was admittedly rather heartless with nearly everyone, and didn’t give a fig for most things, very often tipped his informants heavily in small denominations that they could use easily. No one kept track but John knew that Sherlock had handed out thousands of pounds of his personal fortune to people on the streets, never expecting more back from them than they were willing to give voluntarily. Victor’s businesses donated to carefully selected charities but Mr. Trevor himself did nothing. It bothered John a bit so letting the man experience what amounted to a slap on the financial wrist didn’t tug at his conscience much.

They broke for lunch and Victor tried to chat with John about their mutual experiences in various countries. John’s passport was heavily stamped thanks to his days in the army. Finally Sherlock became irate, “John wasn’t on holiday Victor, he was a Captain in the army and a surgeon. He didn’t have time to take wine baths in Japan.”

“Why aren’t you still working as a surgeon? You could make a killing.” John looked balefully at Victor Trevor.

“John was honorably discharged after sustaining a rather nasty wound. He’s been the private physician for someone for some time now and does not need to obtain work elsewhere. When he is not busy with his patient we work on cases together.” Victor seemed to like the soldier even more.

“Do you answer all of John’s questions Sherlock? Let the man speak!” chided Victor jokingly.

“Sherlock knows me better than anyone, if he gets something wrong, I’ll let you know.” John tried to rein in his temper, he was supposed to be playing nice here, not punching the man in the head. Or the stomach. John couldn’t decide where he wanted to hit Victor first. The man was a complete arse. Did he even realize how sleazy he was? Probably not, his routine probably worked for him a thousand times. John shook his head. He’d seduced more than his fair share of bedmates and if his lovers wanted him, then great, if not, well John enjoyed company so cheers!

Victor Trevor however had been grating on John’s nerves for hours now. The man was so handsy! There was nowhere for John to slip away to in their booth so John endure shoulder-pats and elbow nudges. The man leaned toward John so often he was beginning to wonder if he had inner ear issues. Victor reminded John of dates back when he was a teen and driven by hormones he barely knew how to deal with.

Victor went right for the kill, “So John, are you dating anyone?”

“Nope. I don’t date anymore.” that was pure truth. John preferred not to lie.

“That’s too bad. I would have liked a chance to get to know you better.” Victor leaned in with another overly warm smile.

Sherlock cracked again, completely disregarding their plan, “He’s married Victor. To me. Please stop hitting on my husband.” John’s head swiveled around and he glared at Sherlock who chose to ignore it in favor of glaring at Victor Trevor.

“Married? Please Sherlock, that’s pretty weak. I had Watson checked out from head to toe, he’s not married. If you’d had a shot with him you would have taken it already.” Victor was scathing.

Now John’s head swiveled hard the other way and his eyes were like diamonds, “We’ve been married for a while. We don’t make a big deal out of it, not professional you know, to use your work as a way of getting a leg over. We just keep it quiet.”

Victor was disbelieving and a little angry, “You don’t even wear rings!”

“I’m very particular and we haven’t seen any together that I like!” snapped John, again entirely truthful. He wanted a special ring and he hadn’t had a single opportunity to view any with Sherlock.

“Does Mycroft know?”

“He was our witness so I would have to say yes.” John was speaking firmly. Victor would never know the true circumstance of their marriage but one more time John did not lie. He had no need to. Now the cat was out of the bag and he didn’t need to allow Victor to flirt with either of them. Now all they needed to do was hope he didn’t throw them right out of his building out of spite.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” demanded Victor, looking offended.

“Were we supposed to? I don’t recall needing to clarify our marital state as being part of our work agreement. We’re saving your ass, you are paying us, that’s the deal.” John and Victor scowled at each other.

“Why’d you let me flirt with you then?” he sneered.

“I didn’t make you do anything Mr. Trevor. I don’t know you from a hole in the ground. If you were flirting then I didn’t notice.” John wasn’t going to get into the list he had in his head of all the punches to the face, he’d settled on his face, that Victor had narrowly escaped. John might be shorter but he was still the bigger man. “Sherlock and I are married and as far as I can tell neither of us has demonstrated any personal interest in you.”

Victor was glaring directly at Sherlock who stared coldly back at him, “You can’t walk out on your contract now. I need you to fix this situation.”

John had no problem reassuring him, “Mr. Trevor you already have our word that we will have this sorted out in less than a week. That hasn’t changed at all. If we can finish our meal and get back to it, we’ll be done all the sooner.”

They finished in silence; the only difference was now Sherlock blatantly held John’s hand and kept glaring at Victor who seemed to expect it and just ignored him. John paid for their meal, not giving Victor the chance to try and snag the bill, “One week Victor. Five days at most. We’ll have it all settled for you.”

“Five days. I’ll be keeping track.” Victor went back to his office and stayed there, allowing John and Sherlock to just work on their own. Sherlock focused on their problem while John sorted out Victor’s. The afternoon passed by with great pleasantness.

“I’m in John.” murmured Sherlock with subdued excitement, “I’m beginning the checks now. I designed this program myself when I was abroad, I’ve tweaked it since then.”

Sherlock glanced at John then stopped talking. The time he’d pretended to be dead was still a bit of a touchy area and it was normally easier to not discuss it. John came over and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head and gave him a bit of a squeeze, “The faster the better love. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Me either.” oddly Sherlock missed their caravan, they were strangely free in it and he rather liked the idea of simply ranging around in it with only John for company. His fingers flew over the keyboard and for several minutes Sherlock was lost to the rest of the world as he worked. Finally he was done the first stage and sat back with a sigh.

John came over again and rubbed his shoulders, “You’re beautiful when you’re like that, do you know that?”

“What?”

“When you’re thinking so hard, everything else just disappears for you doesn’t it. You manage to switch off absolutely everything unnecessary and there’s so much focus, god, it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.” John kissed Sherlock briefly on the lips, “I’ll not distract you. I’ll save all of that for when we’re not someplace that smells like your ex-boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“That’s not what he thought I bet, I bet you had him twisted.” teased John.

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s alright love, I do, and it keeps me entertained. Go back to work Sherlock, I want this done so we can have a proper honeymoon.” Well, incentive like that was nothing but successful and Sherlock bent to his task with additional fervor. He had traps to lay and secrets to uncover. John stayed in the background, typing patiently away at the report they’d give Victor when they were done. John was the perfect partner which is why they made such an excellent team. With good spirit Sherlock continued to work the hours away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost over now....


	15. Following the Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor has been firmly put in his place by the outraged Sherlock. Now our boys can finally concentrate on other things.

They were busy day and night now. Victor Trevor was more than happy to let them remain encamped in his building, essentially ignoring the two men now, which was also completely fine; they were much occupied with their tasks.

Perhaps it would have been romantic for them to take a moment here or there for a kiss or a cuddle but they didn’t. They were on a case and for both of them seeing its successful resolution was of paramount importance. They had people out there, people who could be in danger unless they somehow found their foe. John made sure Sherlock stayed fed and that he drank more than just tea, and Sherlock made sure John put his work away and slept for at least six hours a night. John got touchy when he hadn’t rested enough and six hours was barely enough but he wouldn’t accept more coddling than that.

Sherlock went without more than a nap here or there. He was completely focused on his task. He’d designed this program when he’d been searching for Moriarty and it had been very successful, but clearly, not successful enough. Sherlock added in a few more things and sent it working once more, sifting through the billions of bits of information that people left trailing behind them everywhere without knowing, searching diligently for a sign, a clue.

One at a time Sherlock cleared Mycroft’s people. He didn’t care personally for them but Mycroft was an important resource, one that was currently crippled by his lack of trust. As soon as he could Sherlock forwarded his brother a short list of names of people he could once again utilize. On the third day Sherlock’s program was well established. A large number of security plans had been pre-arranged and Sherlock activated the remote access so they could still use Victor’s system while they were on the road. Everything was hidden so that even the most prying of eyes could not see. Sherlock had gotten Anthea to deliberately search for him and she couldn’t do it so he was satisfied. They could leave London.

John delivered his analysis to Victor in dry clipped tones that lay out his issues along with several reprimands about Victor’s business practices. Victor scowled the entire time but listened carefully because John’s advice was sound, practical, and easy to implement. “Stop being a giant dickhead.” said John, an opinion which essentially summed up the entirety of his report.

“They’ve robbed me blind.” Victor snarled.

“You robbed them first, they took it back. It really depends on how you look at it!” snapped John who leaned in hard. “You’ve got resources you’ve abused because that’s how you think of them. They’re people, not tools. They’ve just bent you over and fucked you dry. Now, you can continue doing what you’ve been doing and expect another mutiny in the future, or, you can change yourself and become happily, despotically rich. It’s really your choice. I’d keep them on if I were you, better the enemy you know, right?”

Victor’s people were skilled, the best that could be found. They knew a lot about the inner workings of his company. That was valuable information. Even with contracts there was a large risk that some of that information could be purchased from disgruntled ex-employees who had snapped at long last because Victor was a greedy little shit. Still scowling Victor nodded, “Very well. You’ve fulfilled your contract. I’ll take your advice into consideration.”

John slid over a hard-copy of his recommendations. He’d included a title page “How Not To Be A Dick” in huge bold letters. Victor said nothing, signed their cheque and handed it over. Sherlock folded it in half without looking and tucked it into his pocket, “Good working with you Victor. Call us if you have any other problems in the future.”

“If we’re lucky we’ll never see each other again.” said Victor tersely.

“Well, I don’t believe in luck but there you have it. Good day. John?” John took his leave without another word and simply followed Sherlock out of the office, leaving a contractually satisfied but still unhappy client behind. Victor’s problems had been solved but he reaped no reward from it except to know he had surrounded himself with sharks who now knew how to make him bleed. Well, that was his life choice so the pair left him as he was.

They went to the bank and deposited their cheque. Anthea’s people were spotted here and there, deliberately revealing themselves so John didn’t kill them. Being in public like this was a risk, but as soon as they were done Sherlock and John vanished. Anthea called them on their Hotson line just before they made it back to their caravan, “Was that necessary?”

“Of course it was. Tell Mycroft we’ll be making our way back now but indirectly.” Anthea just ended the call but Sherlock wasn’t troubled. His laptop delivered regular reports over names that were being cleared. John drove the first stretch while Sherlock tapped away on updates for his search program, getting a report together to send to Mycroft. They had stopped for lunch when their mobile rang.

“When can we expect you?” asked Mycroft without preamble.

“We’re taking the scenic route back. Two days at the longest so I suppose we’ll be there for dinner tomorrow, casual dress?” replied Sherlock, sounding bored, as usual.

“I’ll inform the cook then, and have housekeeping see to the atrocity you call a bedroom.”

Sherlock simply ended the call and John kept driving. Eventually they found a large campsite that still had a few available spots so they got one for the night. The site was filled with families and John noticed that all of them were extremely colorful, the women vibrantly dressed and the men hard and practical looking. Sherlock got on with them right away which was unusual. John made dinner and Sherlock played his violin for the children who ran up and down the small road that led from campsite to campsite. Soon there was a mass of them, all jumping around and dancing clumsily as parents looked on from all around them and smiled.

They ate outside on tin plates while sitting on folding chairs. Sherlock was telling the children heavily edited stories based on his own adventures and they were sitting on the ground around them, munching on hotdogs or other portable meals. John was impressed with the rapport Sherlock had with the little ones, enjoying how his husband made the kids laugh or tease one another. He’d never seen Sherlock like this but realized Sherlock had always been good with children; he’d just hadn’t had a lot of opportunities to do so in front of John.

Now Sherlock was reciting bed-time stories and using all the funny voices for the different characters. Many of the stories were well known so the children, many of whom were well beyond the age where bed-time stories were considered acceptable, shouted along and got just as excited as the little ones when they recognized key phrases.

They were visited by a tall, heavily tattooed, squash-nosed, and scarred man with a well-rounded, brilliantly-haired, and glittery wife on his arm. “I’m Francis Smith, this is my wife, Drina.” Both John and Sherlock immediately stood and shook their hands, “This is our campsite, we thought we’d just pop by and tell you how much we enjoyed the music.”

John smiled proudly, “It’s lovely isn’t it? He doesn’t get to play nearly often enough.” Older children were dispatched and soon two folding chairs were added to the front of John and Sherlock’s caravan. 

John made tea which Drina declared the best she’d ever tasted. “I can attest to that fact.” stated Sherlock seriously, “I have done comprehensive studies and I know without a shadow of a doubt that John’s tea is excessively better than anyone else’s.” This answer thrilled Drina no end and she leaned over and patted Sherlock’s shoulder with a plump hand covered in heavily gemmed jewelry and bearing fingernails so long and brilliantly colored John wondered how the woman got anything done.

John was having a great evening. Their laptop was inside still working away but it had been very refreshing to spend this short amount of time just enjoying some human interaction. Francis and Drina were a fun couple too, and John learned they’d been married for thirty years, had loads of children and great-grandchildren, all of whom worked all over Britain. John and Sherlock had stumbled across one of the largest bands of Gypsies in the country and were having tea with their Patriarch.

It was loads of fun. Sherlock played some more, the kiddies danced and tried to sing. Frances got someone to fetch out his guitar and soon other people wandered over until an impromptu musical performance was in full swing. John had never enjoyed an evening more. Soon Drina was in his caravan helping John make snacks with whatever was left in their fridge, serving tea to people who brought their own cups and having the best time. They were putting together plates of sandwiches when she asked, “You’re one of them right? Those gay people?”

John wasn’t sure how to answer that but he wasn’t going to lie about his relationship with Sherlock, “He’s my husband, so I suppose yes but before I met him I’d only ever dated women.”

“There’s much love there. He’s not used to it.” remarked Drina casually as she deftly sliced things to fill the sandwiches with, “Was he a lonely man?”

John had almost stopped moving and was just looking at Drina, silently stunned. She had seen so much. Clearly she was a very clever old lady, “The loneliest. I was his very first friend.”

“He will sicken if you are parted, grow ill if he feels his love is threatened, and cease to be if you are no longer.” she stated bluntly, just putting the sandwiches together as if she hadn’t just given John the most astounding news he’d ever heard.

John’s voice was raspy, “How do you know this? How do you know he’s been ill?”

“Oh, you’ve already had problems. Relax young one, I know these things. My Francis was the same when we first met. He was always so strong, always in charge, always alone. When he was young he was wild, uncontrollable, no woman wanted him. He saw me and decided I was the one for him. He nearly died of love, his own self tearing itself apart one way then another before we managed to marry properly. Your man is the same, he has that look.”

John was astounded. “What do you mean?”

Drina looked up at John, her blue eyes warm and twinkling, “He’s lovesick, young one. He will grow accustomed to being loved and it will sicken him no longer. Except the last part, if you leave this world first, he will soon follow you.”

“How long will he be ill?”

Drina shrugged, “Francis was dreadful for a long time. Of course he had to leave to work very often which made it worse. Once we were married it got better, after we had two or three children it was done. He’s still very sensitive though; don’t let his rough looks fool you. He’s got a heart as soft as goose-down.”

So did Sherlock in many ways realized John. Sherlock didn’t understand much about feelings but he definitely had them and they were incredibly delicate. Suddenly John understood all of it, all these long months, all the sudden occurrences of ill-health and how futile their visits to all those specialists had been. “You are the most marvelous creature in the world.” he declared to a delighted old lady.

“That’s what my Francis says all the time, he’ll be glad to agree with you.” Drina handed him a tray of snacks that were made up of the last scraps of everything John had in his cupboards and he was very proud to serve as many people as he could as the joyfulness continued of its own volition.

The singing started sometime after dark, voices good and bad joining in on commonly known songs as more and more people joined the fun. Tea and sodas were produced from one campsite after another, everyone sharing what they had as the music spread and people joined the chorus. John had never had an evening quite like it. Sherlock had remained bright-eyed and friendly throughout, not finding any of their unexpected company to be unpleasant at all.

It was when the dancing started that John found that he could be made to blush with incredible ease by the heated stares of a lot of old ladies. First it was the young women who danced to a song that was heart-breaking and ancient, sung by a wild looking young man with hot eyes. The women’s hips shook and snapped, small bells at their ankles adding to the song. 

The older women joined, their bodies ripe and filled with knowledge. They put the young women to shame, knowing the desire they were capable of mastering in any they cared to try their skills on. More than one danced for John, and he blushed so often he felt faint. Sherlock laughed and clapped merrily at their skills. He picked up his violin and joined the young man, the notes he wrung from it bringing fire to the dance and the men joined in. Soon the children were in a huge circle clapping out a beat as the couples danced challengingly with one another, their steps becoming more and more complex the longer the song went on.

In the end it came down to a woman of middle years and a man a handful of years older. Both had flashes of gray in their hair but their faces were smooth and filled with arrogance. The clapping had grown complex now, people picking up off beats and flourishes to encourage the dancers to move. The dancer’s eyes flashed almost angrily at one another as they smouldered together by the light of the small paper lanterns that had appeared. The song wound up in a shivering harmony that left John’s nerves almost twanging, the dancers wound together, lips almost but not quite pressed together.

The applause was thunderous and signified the end of the evening. Everyone wandered away, taking their debris and other paraphernalia with them, leaving Francis and Drina saying goodnight to John and Sherlock, “Well that was a rare evening. Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll put the word down the line, if you ever need a place to camp just let us know. We’ll fix you up.”

John shook their hands and he exchanged numbers with Drina who put his with her other son’s numbers. “They got me this mobile. It makes life so much easier knowing I can just pick up and see my children whenever I like.” She kissed them both on the cheek and allowed a beaming Francis to lead her back to their home. Two youths appeared and removed their chairs, bidding the men goodnight as well before leaving the two of them alone in the darkness.

Sherlock led John inside and as soon as their blinds were drawn John kissed Sherlock as hard as he could, “I love you Sherlock.” Sherlock had a bit of a silly smile on so John kissed it and led his husband to the back of the caravan where they got ready for bed, pleasantly tired and a tiny bit tipsy from the few thimblefuls of rather potent drink that Francis had passed around to those he deemed able to handle it.

They tumbled into bed and fondled one another suggestively but in the end just ended up kissing one another until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. There was a knocking on the door very early the next morning and John opened it to discovered a gap-toothed child with flaming red hair and a sack full of fresh biscuits along with two tall cups of coffee, “Gram sent it, says have a good journey.” the child ran off with a smile and a wave. John was very moved by the kind gesture, he had nothing left for breakfast in their caravan, not that that was a problem. Still, it was a great kindness that had been completely unnecessary. John decided they’d be stopping back here whenever they could.

John left Sherlock sleeping in the bed and risked driving down the highway while sipping his coffee and stealing the occasional bite of fresh biscuit which was a mouthful of heaven every time. John wanted to think and driving gave him just enough to focus on that he was able to slowly reconcile himself to the fact that he was driving pretty much directly toward Sherlock’s parents. John sighed. Mrs. Holmes wanted to speak to him and as far as John could tell Sherlock was now set up to continue his work pretty much anywhere in Britain so there was no point in dawdling. Once he’d cleared his agenda with himself John paid great attention to the road and made it a fair distance before Sherlock wandered up front, wearing only his robe. “That’s very distracting.” said John.

“It was meant to be. Park somewhere.” Sherlock wasn’t subtle and John decided he wasn’t in the mood to play hard to get. He searched around and they found a well treed rest area with picnic tables but no actual people in sight. Sherlock dragged John to the back and nearly threw him into bed, “We’re almost back. Why?”

“No point waiting Sherlock, none at all. Anthea was right; we’re taking unnecessary risks being out on our own. We should be with Mycroft and Greg….and your parents. Your dad seems like a lot of fun.” Well Sieger wanted to go shooting with John, and so did Violet, the only difference was that Sieger would want to use paper targets and Violet would probably want to use John.

“We don’t have to stay then, we don’t even have to go. John, are you absolutely sure you want to do this right now?” John smiled at Sherlock and pulled him closer than ever, “John?”

“Sherlock, I love you. I really do. I love you so much that it doesn’t matter to me if your mum hates me or not. We’re married, you love me back, and life is pretty good. The only thing I’m interested in worrying about is if we can find a nice place to retire to when we’re ready. We haven’t even looked for anything in Sussex, it’s not just going to fall in our laps.” John enjoyed the happy smile on Sherlock’s face when he was not-so-subtly reminded that John had every intention of spending the next few decades with him.

“Do I still get to keep bees?” said Sherlock with a small smile.

“You’d better. I’m expecting lots of honey.” John emphasized his request with a very sweet kiss that led to both of them using a good portion of their morning not driving anywhere and leaving John sitting a bit painfully though both he and Sherlock were back to grinning soppily at one another.

They had lunch at a small roadside café before making their way down the last bit road to Sherlock’s family home. John parked the caravan neatly beside Mycroft’s town car and simply followed his husband back into the mansion. Sherlock swept in, walking as he normally did with John on his heels looking alert and almost inconspicuous. Mycroft was standing there, “We were expecting you for dinner.”

“We’re a tad early. Problem?” Mycroft shook his head and smiled ever so softly knowing John was the reason they were back at all. Mycroft looked approving and Sherlock bit back a disdainful sniff because though he had no use for Mycroft’s approval there really couldn’t be enough people in the world who thought well of his John so he allowed it.

“Gregory would like a word with John first if that is acceptable.” John looked quizzically at Mycroft who simply tilted his head in the general direction of their suites. John said not a word and simply left. Sherlock stood there, anxiety growing as John disappeared from view. The last time they’d been parted in this place John had been ambushed. “She won’t do it again, I can assure you.”

“Why did she do it in the first place?” demanded Sherlock angrily, for the first time giving vent to the surge of dark emotions he was feeling for the first time against their mother, “How do I proceed?” Sherlock knew very well he wasn’t thinking clearly. He loved his mother, had always found her to be beautiful and magnificent, but John. John was as much a part of Sherlock as his skin, his blood, his bones. Her actions had wounded Sherlock as badly if not more than they had John. Sherlock realized he didn’t trust her anymore and for a moment he felt like weeping. He pulled himself together, it would never do to appear weak now.

“She thought she was protecting you. Mummy researched John before you ever thought to bring him here. Her sources painted a very unpleasant picture of John, rather deliberately we feel. Now that you’ve given me some of my resources back I can approach the right people to see about Mummy’s people and find out who it was that fed her sources the information. Papa was very unhappy with her and they had one of his talks.”

Sherlock stood there and looked at his feet again, Papa’s talks were very serious things. Sherlock had been sat down by his father on numerous occasions for a little chat, nearly as often as Mycroft. Papa did his best with them and Sherlock realized he should have explained that to John. For the first time Sherlock saw their family with outside eyes, “I have to go to John.”

“Give Gregory a bit of time with him. They understand one another and he will explain. Come brother, we’ll go see Papa first.” Sherlock gave another anxiety filled glance toward the hall where John had last been seen and nodded, he’d find his soldier soon enough. Sherlock followed Mycroft to the atrium.

Sieger was there taking in some sun while he read a book. His face wrinkled up in a very happy smile that was returned by Sherlock who had never looked more like his father than during moments like this. “My boy, back so soon? I would have thought you and your husband would have been hiding out for weeks before you decided to come home.” Sieger’s easy acceptance of John made Sherlock feel better about everything.

“John knew Mummy wanted to speak to us so he brought us back.” with this one sentence Sherlock let his father know everything about Sherlock’s position on this matter.

A shadow crossed Sieger’s face, “Violet is a remarkable woman my boy, you take after her in many ways.” That gentle rebuke made Sherlock sigh and nod.

“John and Greg are discussing the matter.” offered Mycroft.

“Greg’s got a good head on his shoulders, seems that John does too. They’ll speak plainly with one another. It will be well my sons.” Sherlock heaved a sigh but privately doubted. Even if they could smooth matters over the cut had been made and would scar, no matter what was said to heal afterward. 

Sieger looked at Mycroft who excused himself instantly. Sherlock went to his father and sat near him in a close-by chair, “Papa, there is no choice for me, you understand this?”

“I understand better than anyone my son. I could never walk away from Violet, even after all the pain she has caused. She needs me and I need her. It’s the same with you and your John, with Mycroft and his Greg. You have hurt your John many times, I know it. He’s forgiven you much, just as I’ve forgiven Violet much. You must learn from these mistakes and try to understand a little more. You know what I insist upon.”

“Check your facts.”

“Did you, in this case?” No. Sherlock had taken John away without another word. He hadn’t asked his mother anything.

“No Papa.”

“I know son, but that’s alright. It was probably best that you left. Violet was forced to seriously consider the consequences of your absence. Her lesson will sink in all the deeper this time. I have spoken with her and I believe she now understands the import of your feelings for Doctor Watson. Mycroft’s husband was a very fierce advocate on his behalf. You have chosen good friends my son, very good friends.”

Sherlock felt that familiar rush of warmth as his father praised him for negotiating something successfully on his own. Sherlock had never once managed to cross the social boundaries he was challenged by enough to ever make a friend. For Sherlock to find a partner as fine as John was never to be taken lightly. John’s praise was different than his father’s. John’s words were all for Sherlock with never a hint that Sherlock was anything but perfect. Papa knew very well how imperfect Sherlock was, his flaws were not his fault though so Sieger had always worked very hard to instruct his sons to have some sort of functional morality based on concepts they could accept. “Thank you Papa.”

“I know you need to have a minute son, go ahead. I’ve got my book.” Sherlock settled back and thought deeply on his father’s words, the silent minutes going by disturbed only by the occasional rustle of the pages Sieger turned as Sherlock sorted details out in his mind palace.

Greg and John were laughing and snorting as they reunited, old mates to the end, “You little bugger! You left me here to go gadding about with your sweetheart! How could you?”

Greg was teasing John and they both knew it, “Hey, you married the family on purpose unlike me. I’m having a harder time adjusting.”

Both of them laughed again before settling themselves down. A tray of tea fixings had magically appeared at the door with a discrete knock, “Blimey I will never get used to this. You know my laundry disappears every day and reappears clean? I never see the servants, well, almost never. It’s a bit odd if you ask me.”

John nodded. He wasn’t sure how he really felt about being wealthy because he was now. Sherlock had all kinds of money and didn’t care a whit for it. John was glad Sherlock preferred to live at Baker Street where it was well worn and homey, a proper place for two gents to live. “Okay, tell me everything.”

Greg told John everything that had happened, especially the bits he’d missed. Mycroft had given Greg as many of the details as he could, reciting the conversation verbatim and even trying to recall body language and facial expressions for Greg to mull over, “You know this family is made up of cracked eggs right? Sherlock the high-functioning sociopath, well it turns out that his self-diagnosis might not be so far off the mark. Violet makes Mycroft seem warm and fluffy. She’s completely detached except for her Holmes’. Myc’s pretty bad too, I don’t want to tell you what I know but trust me, Sherlock’s antics have nothing on his brother’s. What it boils down to is this, Violet had you checked out. Somewhere someone fed her facts about you but it the least flattering way possible. She wasn’t exactly lied to but everything was colored to make you look like scum. She reacted the way a mother normally reacts, she tried to protect her kid but she’s really not equipped to make rational decisions about how to go about that.”

This was all so much to take in. John wished it were later in the day when knocking back a stiff drink wouldn’t seem so wrong. Even if it was later, John still needed to see his mother-in-law so smelling of spirits would not help his cause one bit, “What’s it all mean now?”

“She’s sorry, well, as sorry as she can be. Violet would like to apologize and start fresh, without the prejudgement. Sieger is quite the handler, you and I need to take some notes from him.” there was the blatant admission right there and John felt it in his gut. He knew Sherlock’s problems were not feigned the way so many people claimed. He really was missing a whole section of perception when it came to social situations. 

John sat slumped forward, suddenly weary and reluctant, “Fuck Greg, what a welcome! I wasn’t expecting it. Maybe I should have.” John clenched his fists, the small half-moon scars on his palms nearly invisible.

“Fuck off Watson, no one expects something like that! Listen, she was cold as ice to me and she approved of the marriage! Someone made her dislike you in advance, she apparently didn’t even need to know you were hitched; she would have done it anyway at that point. I’m not saying any of this shit is going to be fun but we’re married John, you’re going to see his mum again. She’s willing to try and fix her mistake.”

“I know Greg, of course I know. I just need a bit to wrap my head around it.” Greg understood. John was a simple man in many ways but when he had a problem it was always complex. Mrs. Holmes had struck at him with heartless accuracy; hitting every single weak point John had one after the other until John had broken. He felt broken still. John closed his eyes and in his mind he could see Sherlock. What if John never gave Sherlock any more chances, he’d be alone. No one wanted to deal with Sherlock over and over again, only John. John’s huge heart hurt suddenly at the thought of his wonderful madman being lonely once more. For him John would be willing to walk through the fires of hell as many times as it took. Sherlock loved his mum and so John would stand and accept the words she would offer him. They’d begin again, but John would probably never be able to trust Violet the way he might have.

John thought of Drina and Francis. They’d been married for three decades, nearly as long as Sieger and Violet who had past their 47th anniversary late last year. John thought of what it would be like to be married to Sherlock for so long, to be surrounded by the friends and family that had grown around you as the years passed by. Sieger and Violet had a part to play in those future memories so John stood, took a deep breath, “Come on, let’s go find everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know anything about Gypsies except for their famed wanderings and whatever information I gleaned from watching probably horrifically incorrect shows like "Big Fat Gypsy Weddings" so really, you have Channel 4 to blame for any misunderstandings I might have.
> 
> The music night - that kind of thing happens where I live. You pass the word around that you're having a campfire and encourage people to pop in and they do, bringing food, music, drinks and lots of smiles. Try it. It's loads of good fun.


	16. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have returned to Holmes manor.

Violet was standing beside the window staring into the garden when Sherlock and John arrived. Mycroft and Greg showed up a few seconds later and John noticed Sieger standing near the cold fireplace. Sherlock couldn’t help himself; he stood between John and his mother for a moment which John didn’t tolerate for more than an instant. The soldier stepped forward, “We’re back.” he said simply.

Sieger stepped up and gave both men a warm squeeze while Violet came closer, “I’m happy to see that John. Welcome home my boys.” Sherlock’s father turned and looked at his wife.

Violet looked at John and quirked her head to the side, John was painfully aware of how much Sherlock took after his mother. Sherlock did that exact same move when he was about to do something he wasn’t sure about but had agreed to do, “Welcome back John. You are well?”

Okay then, starting right from scratch. John could deal with that. Brushing aside everything like it hadn’t happened John replied, “We’ve been having a good time. It was a nice trip.” 

“We’ve got some guests coming Mummy,” announced Mycroft after reviewing his mobile, “I’ll instruct the staff to get one of the guest suites prepared.” He was smiling reassuringly which made both John and Sherlock tense. Something was very wrong.

“Of course Mycroft.” said Violet, not immediately catching the undercurrents but Sieger did. “When will they arrive?”

“My PA tells me they shall arrive for dinner, around the time we initially expected John and Sherlock back from their vacation.” So that’s how they were going to deal with it.

Violet looked at her oldest son, “They weren’t on vacation.” she turned to John, her face neutral, “Sieger has explained several things to me. I will do better.”

John felt a small knot in his chest loosen. He nodded, “Thanks for that.” That seemed to be it. John realized they’d be working on their new start for ages. He was giving Violet her second chance and she was taking it in a no-frills kind of way. John thought about that for a moment then decided he was fine with it. If it were Sherlock John knew he’d give him a million chances to get it right. He hoped Violet didn’t need that many.

She walked up close to John and stared down at him the exact same way Sherlock looked at particularly interesting slides. Carefully Violet reached out her arms and hugged John cautiously, even patting his back a bit before pulling back, “Welcome to the family John Watson.”

He was still a bit stunned but smiled up at his mother-in-law, “Thank you.”

“We are expecting trouble are we not? You were a soldier is that correct?” John supposed he would become accustomed to the dry almost dispassionate way Mrs. Holmes spoke. He glanced at Sieger who was watching his wife with great affection, “John should be in charge of our defenses then. Is that not logical?”

“That is very logical Mummy and that is exactly why I would like John to discuss those very matters with our team as soon as dinner is done.” Mycroft looked at John, “I was going to bring the matter up shortly.”

So John had gone from being entirely unwanted by Violet to being depended upon. Well. “I was a doctor but I do have some understanding of strategy so if Sherlock wanted to help out as well I think that would be best.” Sherlock’s mind was twisty just like Mycroft’s. They’d spot a weakness in their defenses, both men natural seekers of exactly that sort of thing. Mycroft was a success in the political world because of his tendencies just as Sherlock was a success as a detective because he always, always, found the weak point.

Sieger stepped up, “This home was once a fortress but over time it has become less secure. Mycroft has reviewed our staff, Sherlock my boy, there are four names you will need to examine closely.” Sherlock looked almost shocked, here at his family home they had planned on being surrounded by nothing but support. One traitor would be hard to accept but possibly four? 

Sherlock nodded tersely to his father. “I’ll get my laptop, John?” Their things had been brought to their room. John nodded as well and followed Sherlock closely, just as if they were on a case, ghosting behind his husband like jumper-wearing-death. If there were four people from the Holmes’ sanctum then they were at risk every moment. They examined their possessions for tampering and found nothing. John retrieved his gun, stuck the extra clips in his back pocket, strapped a knife to Sherlock’s ankle as well as his own, and then kissed his husband for several minutes before they left Sherlock’s rooms again.

Mycroft went to the central monitoring room which once again reminded John of those less-than-feel-good movies, “Anthea hand-picked the team based on names cleared by Sherlock. We can rely on them.” he told John softly. The next few hours were filled with reviews of blueprints, lists of names, files filled with details, resources and everything the men could think of. A discrete knock at the door revealed Anthea. “Hello my dear.”

She handed Mycroft a small stack of files and pulled him aside for a murmured conversation. Mycroft nodded and Anthea left without a word to the others, professional and devoted to Mycroft alone as always. “Our guests have arrived. Gentlemen?”

John left his list of recommendations for the security team to begin implementing and followed the others, Greg by his side. John had never noticed how dangerous Greg could look but right now, the DI was moving very much the same way John was, both men at the ready for any kind of attack that might threaten their personal Holmes. They made their way to a large drawing room and John’s face split in a huge grin, “Molly! Janine!”

The women were standing next to one another, Janine’s arm around Molly’s shoulder and both of them practically flew into John and Sherlock’s arms, Molly was almost crying, “We were ATTACKED! Someone broke into my place and tried to kill us this morning.” Sherlock managed to pull away but just so he could look down at them with concern, “Janine has been staying with me. Someone’s been in her flat every time she’s gone out. We’ve been terrified ever since you left. Anthea’s people spooked whoever it was but they didn’t catch them. We’ve been on the move ever since and finally someone told me we were coming here.”

John hugged Molly tight and was gratified to see that Sherlock gave Janine at least a helpful tap on the shoulder but didn’t peel her off of him because she felt no reservation about hanging onto the tall man with all her might. “You giant git! Why did you disappear on us? Your flat is completely abandoned! We came by I don’t know how many times to talk to you. Don’t you answer your phone? I’ve called you twenty times!” Janine punched Sherlock in the shoulder.

“Our mobiles have been unused. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re all in a spot of trouble here.”

“No shit Sherlock, that’s just the most obvious statement in the history of obviousness!” snapped Janine who clearly wasn’t as accustomed to being threatened as everyone else. “Bloody hell Sherl! Who the fuck is doing this?”

“We are attempting to determine exactly that Janine.” said Sherlock calmly, finally extricating himself from her angry and panicked embrace. John let go of Molly and the two women clung together like magnets, Janine with her arms wrapped protectively around Molly’s shoulders and Molly with both arms tight around Janine’s waist.

“Sherlock. The security net triggered!” Greg’s soft words froze the entire room. As a group they made their way back to the control room where six of the dozens of monitors displayed on one wall were black. “Someone is disabling the system, they have to be inside already.”

“Get your parents. Don’t go alone.” Mycroft and Greg stood, weapons materializing in both men’s hands and John got to see Mycroft reveal how truly dangerous he was. Sherlock’s brother radiated cold menace and for some reason it relaxed the doctor. Death to their enemies. The men left to find Sieger and Violet while John got Janine and Molly seated on a sofa to wait, “Good thing Mycroft used such a big room!”

An alarm went off and John watched an exterior camera show the servant’s entrance flood with staff being evacuated, one of the many plans to minimize collateral damage was to protect as many people as possible, even if they accidentally protected the traitors too. John had a feeling that whoever they were, they would somehow remain behind to do what they planned to do. He was ready.

“I wish we had more weapons.” he muttered.

“There’s a cabinet over there, check it.” said Sherlock, his fingers flying over one keyboard then another to try and reactivate cameras that were slowly winking out.

“Fuck yes!” said John, “Ladies, come here.” He gave the reluctant women knives and hand-guns, giving them both a very brief lesson on how to hold them properly as well as how to aim, “This is the safety feature. It stays ON until you are actually ready to shoot someone! Try not to let it be one of us.” They nodded and went back to clinging to each other, both women wide-eyed and terrified.

Sherlock resurrected one camera, the parking lot at the front of the house. It was filled with vehicles and they were empty, “We’re being invaded. We need help.”

John stood there and thought for a moment. Where could they get help? Who could they trust and who would be willing to just drop everything and fight a bunch of possibly armed villains? All his VA friends were in London and generally disabled, they’d want to help but many of them just weren’t well enough anymore. John swallowed hard and reached for his Hotson mobile. He punched a number and got a very cheery, “JOHN! Hello my boy! Where are you camped love?”

“Drina, hello. We’re not camped anywhere, listen. We’re in a spot of trouble. This is a huge favor to ask you, especially since we’ve just met…..”

Drina cut him off with a stern voice, “Tell me what’s wrong boyo,” John then heard her shout, “FRANCIS, JOHN AND SHERLOCK ARE IN TROUBLE!” and Francis’s instant shout back, “WHERE ARE THEY? I’M CALLING THE LADS!”

“Where are you love?”

John told them how to get to the Holmes manor as well as a brief rundown on the problem. He could practically see Drina nodding, “Drina, we can’t thank you...”

“Nonsense John, Francis is already in his truck with some of the boys, they’ll gather more up as they go. I’ve got to hang up love; I’ve got calls to make. Don’t you worry; you’re safe when you’ve got a Smith on your side.”

John actually did feel better. He had no idea what kind of reinforcements were coming but it wouldn’t be long. Drina and Francis’s campsite wasn’t actually that far from Holmes manor if you drove there directly instead of wandering back and forth the way John and Sherlock had done. They had to hold out for an hour, maybe two.

Sherlock was battling the computer system. Finally Janine stood, pulled up a chair and took over some of the keyboards. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Janine’s shoulders hunched a bit, “Fine. I was a bit of a hacker when I was a teen, but just a bit alright? Fuck off. I can help.”

Molly made herself small and huddled on the sofa alone. Mycroft and Greg arrived, the men on either side of the elders they escorted. Molly stood and let Sieger and Violet sit, Sieger bearing a rather startling number of guns as did they all, “We got most of the collection, everything is loaded. I hope it will do.” Bless Sieger’s collection. John had his Sig but there were only so many rounds available. The hand-guns he'd given the ladies didn't have many rounds either. John had his Sig loaded and two extra clips which wasn’t enough as far as he was concerned. Still, if it came to a showdown John was looking forward to trying the Blunderbuss. He’d only ever seen them in museums.

Mycroft looked at them, “Greg and I are going to the kitchens, there’s an en suite here but we’ll need water and something to eat soon enough. It’s better that we go now, before the house is actually breeched.” John nodded and the two heavily armed me slipped away together. John checked the rest of the room efficiently, there was a well-stocked med-kit and Molly stood, “I’ll take care of this end of things, I’m a doctor after all.”

She was, even though she specialized in pathology Molly was very skilled. John nodded appreciatively and went over the contents with her briskly. John stopped, “Oh. Violet, Sieger, these are our friends from London, Doctor Molly Hooper and Janine Brook. Molly, Janine, these are Sherlock and Mycroft’s parents, Violet and Sieger Holmes.” The Holmes elders nodded their heads but said nothing. They knew everyone was busy.

“You have parents Sherl? I thought someone carved you out of a big block of sugar.” teased Janine and Sherlock elbowed her with a small smile. Both of them were concentrating fiercely and together had managed to get three of the now twenty different cameras working again. Everyone worked in silence. John was laying out their trove of weapons in order of usefulness while Sieger explained the pros and cons of each one. At any other time John would have been enjoying himself immensely. If he survived he was definitely taking Sieger out for a day of shooting things.

Violet looked at John curiously, “You have killed.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a doctor.” she remarked.

“I was a soldier first.” John deftly checked the weapons one after another, completely comfortable as Captain Watson.

“You still are I’d say.” Violet sat back and disappeared inside herself the way Sherlock so often did. John wondered if Violet had her own mind palace or if she utilized some other kind of construct to keep herself in order. Greg and Mycroft came back and the power went out.

Emergency power in the room kicked in instantly but the disruption caused some of the screens to black out, Sherlock and Janine sorted it out in time to see a dozen or so black clad people with masks breaking into the front of their home. Violet frowned, “That door is over three hundred years old, that lock was crafted right here on the estate!” Alarms all around the house clamored and then fell suspiciously silent.

Mycroft strode to stand beside Sherlock and keyed in a series of commands. Distantly they could hear doors slamming, “When Moriarty first showed I took the precaution of installing automatic locks on the inner doors. They’ll have to break through each and every one to get anywhere.”

“What kind of house is this!” exclaimed Janine.

“A well-protected one, that’s why we came here.” said Mycroft with some distraction. He was still keying in commands, the three keyboards clacking away industriously. Greg was kneeling beside John and being instructed by Sieger on a selection of weapons John had assigned him. “This is a safe room. The door is steel; the walls are reinforced brick cover with layers of, well, other things. We should be able to withstand a long siege, long enough anyway.”

“Long enough for what?” asked Janine but Mycroft said nothing.

There was a rap at the door, six distinctive taps. Mycroft went over and pulled it open without hesitation and Anthea came in, “I got the alert.” She looked cool and calm and was shockingly dressed in black just like the invaders. “I don’t know why they never check the last person in.”

Anthea had only just left the manor, had received the alarm and simply followed the crowd inward. John assumed she’d overpowered someone and taken their clothes. Once the mask was on she would be indistinguishable from anyone else, “Bad news?”

“Mostly for you Doctor.” Anthea held up her mobile to show a picture she had snapped of the front of the house. There by their caravan stood Mary. John was stunned. “She’s in the files now that I have a bead on her. She’s a ghost.”

John felt the shock increase. Mary, jealous crazy Mary was a ghost? John opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He was too appalled. Sieger looked confused, “Ghost? She’s not an apparition, what does that mean?”

“It means she’s very capable when it comes to computers. It’s likely her that is jamming the system. She most likely works for someone and is not in charge of this attack. It also means that John has once again attracted the interest of someone of unusual intelligence but who lacks a certain something in the morality department.”

“Sherlock’s not that bad.”

“I was referring to Moriarty John.” John scowled at Mycroft who continued, “His little crush on Sherlock was nothing compared to the one he had on you.”

“He didn’t have a crush on me. He was only interested in Sherlock.” said John angrily but then Sherlock’s body language shifted and John grew cold, “He didn’t.”

“That’s why I had to die John, that’s why I disappeared for so long. He wanted you and the only way to keep you safe from his minions was to take myself right out of your life so he didn’t feel threatened. I did it to save you…and the others of course.” Sherlock sounded miserable and worried.

“Where is Mrs. Hudson?”

“Enjoying a very nearly debauched holiday in the USA with Mrs. Turner, you really don’t want to know what those two are up to. I sent them to Reno. They have handlers all around them at every moment.” John shook his head a bit, Mrs. Hudson did like to gamble and watch musical performances. She was probably having the time of her life.

“So what you’re telling me now is that Moriarty, the man who tried to kill me I don’t even know how many times, who tried to kill Sherlock, who tried to bloody well kill London, he was in love with me?” John didn’t realize he was shouting.

Sherlock stood abruptly and ran to the en suite, slamming the door behind him but everyone could still hear him getting ill. John went right in after him, “John, I’m sorry. I should have told you, I wanted to tell you. The words stuck in my throat. I can hardly bear to think about what he wanted.” Sherlock got sick again, hanging onto the tank desperately as he leaned over the toilet.

John rubbed Sherlock’s back until he calmed, cleaned him up, let him brush his teeth and then hugged him hard. “Tell me now.”

“I started receiving messages some months before the Fall, all little teases about you, how he knew I cared about you, how interesting you’d become. If he hadn’t discovered my feelings for you he never would have noticed you but once he did you had his full attention. Maybe he didn’t actually love you or maybe he did, it doesn’t matter, he wanted you and that was enough. I decided to do whatever it took to get him to leave you alone, and I did. I didn’t care what happened to me. Once I was officially dead I became free to strike back at him and I did that too. I spent months taking his world apart the way he’d taken mine apart. I suppose Mary is part of his revenge. I didn’t know that though John, I swear to you I didn’t.”

John knew there was a time he would have been furious at Sherlock for keeping such a secret from him but how could John be irate with such a gesture? Sherlock had carved his own soul out and offered it to the devil to save John. John kissed Sherlock ardently, “I love you Sherlock, thank you for being so perfect.”

Sherlock’s face was filled with amazement and love with just a hint of disbelief, “You’re not angry?”

“No, I’m not angry, not now. I love you Sherlock and I know that if our positions were reversed I’d do the same thing for you and I wouldn’t rest until you were safe. I love you.” Sherlock’s smile was like the rising sun and his eyes were bright and happy. John kissed that smile and enjoyed the sweetness.

“I love you too John. Thank you. Shall we?” John kissed Sherlock one more time, checked him over for missing messes and nodded. They went back to the others and resumed their tasks without a word though the silence was pregnant with questions.

Sherlock sat back, “Janine, who do you work for again?”

“I work for a company called CAM Global, why? I’m off now. I took a leave of absence.”

“Your phone is wired. The signal leads back to your home office.” Sherlock indicated the monitor in front of him and Janine looked aghast, “From what I can see you were tagged weeks ago, I’d say right as you managed to ‘accidentally’ meet Mary Morstan.”

Janine started swearing under her breath and Sherlock made note of one or two of them, John would be interested to possibly hear a curse he hadn’t already tried. “No wonder she agreed to let me bunk over, I bet that suited her perfectly!” Janine squared her shoulders and began to type even faster, “Ghost is she. Well, let’s see how good she really is.”

The Hotson mobile rang, “John? Hullo love, the boys are nearly there, some of the girls too, well, the children are so wild these days aren’t they? What can you tell us?”

John gave his unexpected second-in-command a sit-rep listened to her speak for a minute or two before she disconnected, “Right, reinforcements are arriving in about ten minutes.”

Mycroft looked very startled, “What reinforcements? I have no one close by that’s reliable.”

“You aren’t the only one with scary friends Mycroft.” said John, “We met a nice couple and they’ll lending us a hand. ETA ten minutes.”

Janine got all the exterior camera’s working, managed to target Mary’s mobile and began spamming it with weight-loss advertisements, self-esteem advice, stylist recommendations and a host of other petty things. She was giggling to herself in a not-nice kind of way that had Sherlock smiling and both Molly and John shaking their heads affectionately.

Greg stared around, “Who the hell is coming?”

“You’ll see. Believe it or not Sherlock actually likes these ones.”

“I do, the music and sub-culture are fascinating.” Sherlock’s fingers flew faster and faster along with Janine’s. They bumped elbows every once in a while and Janine occasionally kicked Sherlock’s leg when they accidentally worked at cross-purposes. They began to work in harmony and suddenly every single monitor lit up. Sherlock and Janine high-fived each other and went back to it without another word while everyone else stared in horror.

The manor had dozens of people swarming through it, every single entrance on the exterior had been opened and the invaders were working their way steadily inward! How could a small army just waltz through England with no-one noticing? Everyone’s head turned when they heard a distant crash, “Three doors remaining.” reported Mycroft dispassionately.

Another crash, “Two doors.”

A final crash, “Last door, they’re in the hallway now.”

There was a loud bang on the door. Someone was trying to batter their way inside! The strikes were muted and the door didn’t budge a jot. “Parking lot.”

All eyes swiveled to the monitors and John grinned. A convoy of old pick-ups, vans, family cars, work vehicles of all sorts poured onto the property. As soon as they stopped a huge mass of people streamed out, mostly young men but lots of seasoned ones as well, and a fair handful of rather terrifyingly smiling women. All of the carried something, be it shovels or similar, even cricket bats in one or two cases, but from what John could see, no guns of any sort. The Smiths had arrived.

 


	17. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have made some very interesting friends and they've all come for a visit. Let's welcome The Smiths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely shameless twisting of facts to fit my fancy.

The battering ram ceased. Mycroft keyed in a code and suddenly the hallway outside their door was shown on one of their monitors, Janine and Sherlock nodded, clearly they’d been working to free up that camera too and the three of them had managed. How good was Mary if it took two Holmes’ and a Janine to out-maneuver her? John was worried. He looked at the monitor.

There were six individuals and they were packing up a bag of something and withdrawing. John scanned all the other monitors to check the front of the house where the people in black were now gathering and saw the Smiths descend like a denim tornado onto their uninvited guests. It was easy to tell who was on each side. The invaders stood right out in their tactical gear and the Smiths were all wearing denim pants, shorts, vests, and the ladies had pretty blouses on. It was mayhem.

Perhaps the invaders were heavily armed. It was hard to use your weapon when you had a rather solid forehead smashed into your face. The Smiths were fast, savage, and clearly having the time of their lives. Guns and knives were pinched one at a time from the invaders and were being cheekily passed back then collected in a well-worn wheelbarrow by a sassily grinning youth with flaming red hair. John and Sherlock grinned. “Mycroft, we’re going out there. Molly, you stay here with everyone, Janine, keep an eye on the system alright?”

Greg and Mycroft stood near the door, John’s hand was on the handle and Sherlock was right behind him, “Papa, lock the door as soon as we’re out.” Sieger nodded, “We’ll fall back if necessary for your back-up weapons but hopefully it won’t come to that.” John still really wanted to try the Blunderbuss but he’d prefer not to kill anyone today if possible.

“Be careful my boys!” said Sieger, worry all over his dear face. Even Violet looked uneasy, “We’ll be watching you.”

“We shall return soon Papa.” Mycroft nodded to John who checked with Janine. She gave them a terse nod so John pushed the door open and forming into a tight group all four men left, John in the lead. The door clicked shut behind them, the only evidence of the ram a small scratch on the paint.

The six that had withdrawn had not withdrawn far. John was taking the precaution of closing doors behind them as they verified the emptiness of one room after another, and only five rooms down they were waiting. Sherlock’s head had swiveled to the side when something caught his eye and John simply reacted, reaching behind the door and grabbing the pistol holding arm that had only begun to move from its hidden location. A deft pinch against the attempted-assailant’s thumb and the weapon dropped just in time to dramatically announce the presence of the five others.

It wasn’t exactly a fair fight but the room was small and whoever these people were they clearly hadn’t been there for their skill in self-defence. John had two down before Sherlock managed to knock one out, Mycroft and Greg were slightly behind John for swiftness, working together to manage the very last man until all six of them were laid out and unmoving. Greg looked down, “I think I broke mine.” the man he’d knock out on his own boasted an arm that seemed to have an extra elbow.

“Well he won’t die of a broken arm in the next little while.” John was practical and locked the door behind him. As an interior room there were no windows to worry about trying to lock from the inside should any of them wake while John and the rest were off taking care of their problems. John checked Sherlock’s hands for damage and kissed the slightly reddened knuckles he found, “Come on gorgeous.” John led them forward.

The house was eerily silent and every single door was opened as were most of the windows on the exterior walls. They crept along as quietly as they could, making their way through the building one room at a time until they were in the now wide open foyer. It was a madhouse. The Smiths had overwhelmed their foes and now were fighting in small groups against the highly trained operatives who, while impressively skilled, were having a hard time fighting five or six people who kept hitting them with embarrassing things like plastic rakes and toy golf clubs. It was a humiliating way to lose which seemed to be the point for the Smiths.

One of the girls had a rolling pin and right in front of John and Sherlock the tiny woman clipped the large man she’d been sparring with right behind the ear. He went down with a small grunt and she winked at John, “Gram says hi.”

“Tell her we love her!” called John because she had nipped away to join yet another group. Francis was in the thick of it, roaring happily as his sons and most likely grandsons ranged around him trading neat punches with the desperately fighting people in black. John shook his head, “I don’t know if we should join in or let them keep having fun! I almost hate to interfere!”

Francis saw him, “HEY JOHN! WE SAVED SOME FOR YOU!” another devilishly smiling youth yanked open a door to a storage closet and four men tumbled out, landing right at John’s feet. The closest man lashed out instantly and then it was on.

John was having as much fun as the Smiths. The blood was racing through his veins and he wanted to sing out with pride as Sherlock ducked and wove his way with his baddie, managing to avoid other crashing bodies and fights. John appreciated Sherlock’s lightning reflexes even as John managed to hold his own against the man in front of him. John hadn’t fought like this in ages but none of his old skill had left him. He’d earned a fierce reputation in the army, one balanced only by his equally impressive reputation as a doctor. John was a scrapper from way back.

While John was devastating power and an immovable force Sherlock was almost super-naturally graceful, bending and swaying like a dancer whilst striking back with painful impact. His years of learning bits and pieces of martial arts had blended together into a style that was all his own and obviously baffling for the now flagging opponent who was beginning to list to one side. John kept grinning until the bastard pulled out a gun on Sherlock.

Without batting an eye John felled the man he’d been fighting with a sharp blow near his heart. The man wasn’t dead but the shock had knocked him right out. Without pause John raced over to Sherlock and savagely attacked the craven who was going to shoot his husband. Seconds later the man was bloody on the floor, bleeding silently from his broken nose and completely unconscious.

Someone shouted from outside, “Oi, has Johnny gotten his arse here yet?” John went out followed by Greg and Mycroft who both had bloody knuckles but were otherwise unharmed. Sherlock was smirking at the man John had just downed and followed John instantly. There next to their caravan was Mary, pinned to the side of it by a small group of young women holding fire-place pokers, all aimed at her tenderest parts. Mary looked savage. A blond girl with a small willowy figure looked over her shoulder and said, “Hey John, Gram says hi. This one says she knows you.”

“Yes, from London. She’s not quite who she said she was though, are you Mary?” Mary shrugged and relaxed, acting as if she weren’t being physically threatened by what looked to be a pack of mallrats. John noticed one of the girls had little flowers painted on her fingernails and two of the other ones had little toy cartoon figures attached to the braids in their hair. They were just kids!

Francis came out of the house with his boys and they had a small group of Holmes staff surrounded between them. “Oi Sherlock, these one’s say they’re yours but they were in some room trying to open a safe of some kind. Wotcher John!”

“Hello Francis, Sherlock? Mycroft?” John couldn’t deal with Mary right at that moment so he turned to the girls, “She can’t leave. Don’t let her have a mobile or let her anywhere near anything even remotely like a computer. I’ll be right back.

“Right John, don’t worry. We’ll watch her extra close.” the pokers hadn’t wavered a bit and Mary remained where she was, her entire body mere inches away from being impaled all over in the least pleasant of ways. She was scowling but silent.

Mycroft and Sherlock went to look at the people in custody, “Mrs. Potts?” There was an elderly woman and she was crying, “Mrs. Potts what happened?”

“Oh these people! Oh, I was in my rooms when the alarms went off. I don’t move as fast as I used to and by the time I got part way all the doors locked! I hid in the Blue Room and…oh my, little Bruce? You grew up here, you too Jefferson! Andrew, why? The Holmes’ have always been so good to you, but Charlotte, you, oh it breaks my heart!”

“Mrs. Potts what did you see?” asked Sherlock softly. He was reassured by what he saw. She was genuinely upset. As the Holmes’ nanny she had helped raise most of the children on the estate, she knew all of them very well. Everything both Mycroft and John could see verified that she was not part of the plot, whatever it was. She was very disappointed in her old charges all of whom had the grace to look mortified.

“They were trying to break into the safe, they were reading instructions but something wasn’t working.” Reported the shawl wrapped old lady who dabbed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief.

“I changed the codes this morning, they wouldn’t have the new ones, no one does.” said Mycroft. 

Bruce looked miserable, “We didn’t want to. I don’t know about the others but….Mr. Mycroft, they have my Kirstin, my baby girl. They took her almost half a year ago and told me to tell no one but to do as I was told when I was told to. I did. She’s my little girl, she’s only twelve. They let me see her online once a day but I don’t know where she is and neither does she!”

Mycroft and Sherlock grew instantly grim but neither of them got as white-hot furious as Greg and John, both naturally protective of all who needed it, especially children. “Who would do this?” All heads swiveled to Mary who finally began to look worried. She blanched when Mycroft smiled at her, “My dear, so good of you to drop by for a little chat.” 

Mary turned her face away but a sharp jab in the cheek by one of the girls made her turn back to look at Mycroft again. John stalked over to Mary and enjoyed how she struggled to hide the terror she was feeling with a mask of contempt, “Mary the Ghost. We have so much catching up to do.”

Mycroft was there and he was smiling politely, extending his arm as if asking to escort Mary to tea. Every single person in black was now either unconscious or in the middle of being tied into neat packages, the Smiths having a seeming endless supply of practical items hidden in their vehicles including a huge spool of rope. All of them were laughing with one another, bragging about blows they’d given or hits they’d endured. John absolutely loved this family and Greg seemed eager to meet them so the introductions began. “Francis, this is Sherlock’s brother Mycroft and his husband Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.”

“A copper!” Francis crushed Greg’s hand in a hearty handshake, “Always good to be friends with a copper, can’t tell when that’ll come in handy. Mycroft, do you play the fiddle too? I’ll call Drina, she can get some grub together, we’ll have a bit of music yeah?”

Greg laughed and Mycroft demurred, “It would be terribly poor manners for your good wife to provide the fare, please, your family is entirely welcome here. I will call the staff back, our home is well provisioned. First though, we have some pressing issues to deal with.”

“No problem! I’ll get some of the girls to bring Drina here! Where can we park the caravans?” The Holmes property was quickly discussed and a large pasture was designated a camping site. Mycroft sent Anthea a text and several minutes later the group from the safe-room emerged from the house, “Oi, who has the lovely missus?”

Francis and several of the other older men were very appreciative of Mummy Holmes and Sieger smiled softly around at everyone. Janine and Molly were holding hands tightly, much to the obvious disappointment of nearly every man who didn’t already wear a wedding band. Anthea was then eyed thoroughly, not that she appeared to notice. She was busy with her mobile and her face was grim. She went to Mycroft and whispered in his ear and only John’s long years of observation allowed him to see that Mycroft was furious. None of it showed in his face as Mycroft introduced his parents to Francis, and by extension, every Smith in that part of England. “Mr. Smith, you have my gratitude for coming to my son’s aid. Tell me, do you like guns?”

Sieger and Francis fell to talking and soon a group of youngsters were sent to fetch the hidden collection in the safe room. John was laughing again. They’d just had what basically amounted to a war but the trussed up bodies on the ground may as well have been furniture for all the attention they now received. Violet was being tended by a flock of young men and women who asked her all manner of questions about the home before taking the older woman back inside, apparently to see the kitchens.

Drina arrived only half an hour later. She’d left not long after Francis, having been driven the distance in a caravan by a boy whose age was dubiously great enough to have obtained a licence. There was a second Smith invasion, one that lasted a bit longer than the first but one caravan at a time a free-spirited mobile kingdom arrived. Drina and Francis were clearly their king and queen. “We left right after things got exciting. I couldn’t wait and I knew Francis would want me to be here. We parked not far away and waited for one of the children to call.”

“This is better than the homeless network,” said Sherlock with a glint in his eye. “John, you made a very good call.”

“That you did, John my boy, that you did. We Smiths are everywhere you see, all over England. There isn’t a corner you can’t find a Smith.” Drina was so proud of her massive brood. John looked around at the staggering amount of people that were now beginning to set up and organize themselves. Anthea stepped up, “I’m bringing in extra supplies, a delivery truck will be here in the morning with foodstuffs and other items. Mr. Holmes will be preoccupied for the rest of the evening and sends his regrets at being unable to join you until much later.”

Sherlock was completely torn. He didn’t normally care what happened after to the people involved in the many fracases he’d been a part of in his life but he’d grown quickly fond of the Smiths and at the same time he felt he should be part of the questioning of Mary. He opened his mouth but Anthea cut in, “Mr. Holmes was VERY clear that only he and Mr. Lestrade will be involved. You and Doctor Watson are not impartial.” That was true. Sherlock had a list of various ways he could hurt or kill Mary, not that he’d ever seriously planned on doing so but making the list had entertained him briefly.

It was full dark now but there were plenty of ways to light up the darkness if you combined the endless resources of the Holmes and Smith families. Mummy and Sieger seemed to be having an alright time with Drina and Francis who took to the patrician couple like ducks to water. Drina didn’t seem to have any problem with Violet, simply explaining things to her as if she were a small child if it had to do with feelings and jumping all over the place if they were talking about anything else. Drina seemed to know that Violet was more than capable of following along if encouraged and there was no one in the world more encouraging that Drina Smith. She was the ultimate grandmother, plump, patient, and kind.

Of Mycroft, Greg and Anthea not one sight was seen all that evening though Sherlock was asked to bring out his violin, guitars and a few hand-drums showed up as well, the music went on till very early in the morning and food flowed from the Holmes kitchen in an endless parade of dishes. Molly and Janine laughed and danced with groups of still energetic youngsters, Janine asking for one old favorite song after another, her dream of live music coming true. The Smiths invaded the mansion with a lot of laughs and appreciation, cleaning up the messes they passed almost incidentally, a few men with tools in their belts fixing this and that until the whole place looked unmolested. Violet was very approving especially when one of the young men explained that he was a blacksmith and was fairly certain he could repair or at least replicate the ancient Holmes lock that had been so ignominiously damaged.

A lot of people in suits had arrived, removing the still roped up remnants of the invading army. No one had bothered to ask them a single question, just left them where they’d been tied up. A group of children had gone around with water and carefully made sure the captives were moderately cared for at least. No other authority seemed to make itself known and that pleased the Smiths mightily. “Does Greg keep the other coppers away?” asked Francis with an eager grin.

Violet and Sieger were tired early and smiled their way past the crowds of Smiths that all asked solicitously after them as they went back to the manor. John also wanted his bed, “That would be Mycroft I believe,” said Sherlock dismissively, “He’s got a lot of associates in all the most useful places.” 

Drina patted Francis’ leg and suddenly the crowd around them was swirling, picking up chairs, dousing fires in braziers, and chivying children to various campers until everything was cleared away and darkness reigned again. A tall smiling man stood behind the pair with a lantern. John recognized him as one of Drina’s many sons. She pulled John and Sherlock down for a big kiss on the cheeks, “Goodnight boys. Sleep well.”

Both men got claps on the shoulder from Francis and the tall man before they escorted the much loved Drina away for the night. Sherlock took John’s arm in his and they ambled back to the manor. “I need to wash up.” John did too. They made it back to Sherlock’s room and looked around. The invaders had broken in here too but everything seemed undisturbed. Still John and Sherlock swept everywhere, one after the other searching for surveillance devices. They found three and nodded grimly at one another. This day wasn’t over. Tiredness forgotten both men began to work over the mansion one room at a time.

It was nearly dawn before they finished. Over a hundred devices had been planted, not even the bathrooms had been excluded and that made John very angry, especially when Sherlock politely disturbed his parents at three in the morning and found no less than four devices in their suite. John was insisted they sweep one more time before he was satisfied and bid the elder Holmes an unmonitored and restful night. Eventually they came to the room where Mycroft and Lestrade were interviewing Mary. Anthea was at the door and in a few short words Sherlock explained what they’d found and handed over the mixing bowl they’d appropriated from the kitchens with the now very mangled remains of their discoveries. Anthea went still before going directly into the room.

John and Sherlock stayed in the hall but they could see Anthea signing a message to Mycroft and witnessed his very pleased smile. Somehow discovering that his interrogation had been possibly monitored by another party did not dismay Sherlock’s brother. A single gesture dispatched Anthea back to her station outside the door but she didn’t look unhappy. She pulled out her ever present mobile and tapped in a sequence, “Back to the control room.” she said and off they went.

Sherlock and Anthea settled themselves in front of the computer system and set to work, “We have access to Victor Trevor’s systems, we’ll use those.” Anthea nodded, “If I’d known we could have infiltrated a third source for verification.” Anthea smiled but said nothing, their fingers flying over their keyboards deftly. John dug through the provisions that had been left behind in the chaos and drank some water. There was some fruit too so he pulled a chair up beside Sherlock and fussed silently until Sherlock had something to drink. John then broke off bits of his orange and popped a bite into Sherlock’s mouth, one for every three of John’s but Sherlock didn’t protest and Anthea restricted her comments to small smile and a quick glance.

John was a decent soul so he got Anthea a bottle of water too and left a selection of fruit close to her hand. He had no idea what they were doing but it looked like another science fiction movie in the making. Sherlock had a rather nasty looking grin on every once in a while and John decided he was glad he was nearly completely ignorant of advanced technology. Breakfast time rolled around and the mansion staff returned in a large flock. John could hear tutting and other sounds of dismay as the whole place was inspected. At half-seven a large trolley was rolled to the door and John was thrilled to find a large pot of excellent coffee, an assortment of fresh-baked good, as well as three full English breakfasts.

John forced Anthea and Sherlock to stop doing whatever magic they were doing. Setting the meals in front of them while they were hot John made sure both of them put a sizable dent in the offering, ignoring Sherlock’s insistence that eating while on a case slowed him down. “The screams from your stomach are disturbing Anthea, she needs to concentrate. Eat all the eggs.” Sherlock moaned the whole time but left hardly a crumb despite the dramatics and had John pour him a second cup of coffee before he went back to work.

Nicely full and very tired now John stretched out on the sofa where he could keep his eyes on Sherlock. He couldn’t doze off though, not until he got back up and locked the door to the hallway, “Paranoid.” he muttered but then, yesterday had definitely happened so maybe he wasn’t being overly cautious. John reassured himself further by making sure Sherlock’s weapons were ready before finally laying down for a nap.

He was woken about an hour later, “John. We can go to bed now.” Sherlock was smiling but exhausted looking, “The traps are in place. Everything is ready to go. Anthea is going to update Mycroft but it will be a number of hours before we can actually do anything. Let’s get some sleep.”

John stood slowly, finding himself very sluggish, “I still need to wash.” Sherlock nodded and they made their way back to his rooms one more time. They went straight into the shower, washing and shaving perfunctorily before tumbling into bed, nearly asleep before their heads were fully down.

They only managed to sleep till noon before they were roused by someone hammering at the door. Alarmed John grabbed his gun before answering it. It was Lestrade, “John, Sherlock, come along. Mycroft needs to talk to you.”

Pulling on fresh clothes as fast as they could John and Sherlock followed Lestrade closely, “You brother is something else Sherlock. He’s a fucking artist. Mary had no idea how he was working her. She’s a cagey one, that’s sure enough. Bloody hell John, I read her file. You’re lucky you came out of that thing with her alive!” John sighed. Why was it always him? Why did all the crazy people find him so bloody irresistible?

“You are enticingly normal John. You are a rock, stability. For people like us someone like you is worth everything.” John glanced up at his husband. They were still walking fast but then Sherlock only ever needed a glance in order to read John. “If Mary were sent in to charm you for a purpose then whoever she works for must have known I did not die the same day as Moriarty. They’ve been working against us all this time, even as I worked against them. I struck a broader target but all they would need to do to win is destroy you. Game over.”

Sherlock’s jaw was tense and John didn’t hesitate to lace his fingers tightly with the taller man’s. They held onto one another, staying as close as possible until Greg finally pushed open the door to the interrogation room. Mary was sitting there looking tired but unharmed. She sneered at John and Sherlock, “So now what, you hand me over for medical experiments?”

“Of course not my dear…well let’s just continue calling you Mary, alright? You must know John enough to know he would never harm a prisoner. I had him brought here to verify that you have not been harmed in the least.” John looked at Mary and since he didn’t see anything gushing blood he felt she was healthier than she deserved.

“What about your brother?” Mary and Sherlock were looking at one another and now there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. John was well-known for being fair and honorable whereas Sherlock was known for stealing body parts and conducting unspeakable experiments all in the name of research.

“I wouldn’t lay a finger on you.” said Sherlock calmly, “Not until you were dead already at any rate and then what would you care what I did with your corpse? I do have a rather large series of data I’m collecting and having an entire body on which to conduct the experiment would be terribly useful but John would feel oddly about having you spread around the flat, even if I kept you in tinted jars. He’s funny that way.”

“I’m not shopping for tinted jars Sherlock! You haven’t even finished with those bits I got from Molly. Are they still in the fridge? You’d better have put those in the freezer like I asked you to.” their bickering struck more terror into Mary than the hours of interrogation that Mycroft had put her through because John was entirely serious and she knew it. John wasn’t batting an eye about letting Sherlock do experiments on her, he just didn’t want to go shopping.

“Those were returned ages ago John! I haven’t even tried out my new bone saw yet, and you know how long I’ve been waiting!” Sherlock sounded petulant and a bit whiney and Mary’s eyes were like saucers. She'd seen that saw. It was in their kitchen drawer with their bread knives and wooden spoons.

She turned her eyes to Lestrade, “You’ve got to help me. Aren’t you a detective?”

“Not my division.” said Lestrade laconically. “It’s his,” and he nodded his head to Mycroft who smiled politely at her. Now Mary looked ashen, “You’ve broken a lot of laws Mary, things I don’t have jurisdiction over. You probably won’t die as long as I’m here.” the word ‘probably’ made her swallow as she looked over the four men who held her undesired life in their collective hands.

Her shoulders sagged, “His name is Charles Augustus Magnusson.” Mary didn’t seem to want to look up, “I was recruited almost ten years ago. I was assigned to John Watson after the man pretending to be Moriarty was killed. My job was to enter a relationship with John and keep him from Sherlock but it never worked out. Both of them are idiots.” Mary looked up at John savagely, “Why the fuck couldn’t you just date like a normal person?”

“Why couldn’t you? Who the fuck showed you how to seduce someone? You know you came across as a total lunatic, right?” Mary scowled at John.

“That’s what you like John Watson. Everyone knows that. You like the freaks don’t you.” spit Mary and John wanted to kill her all over again because Sherlock’s face suddenly became smooth and expressionless. Suddenly the room grew cold as Mary realized she now had three very dangerous men staring at her with blank expressions. Sherlock’s back was now turned, that one word enough to bring back all the slings and arrows he’d endured over his lifetime.

“No Mary, I love them. They’re brilliant and unusual, rare and special. You’re not special. You’re not unusual. You’re just a rental. Your boss doesn’t even care about you or am I missing the retrieval teams attempts to get you back? You whore your skills out to anyone at all don’t you? You don’t care what you do or who you do it for, just as long as you get paid. My husband at least has a purpose, something grander than just cold hard cash.”

Mary wasn’t in her chair anymore. She’d gotten free and shoved at Lestrade. John thought she was making for the door but she pulled out Greg’s gun instead and the world went into slow motion as she swung back, already squeezing the trigger. Her expressing was self-satisfied and eager as she aimed right at Sherlock’s chest. John felt himself screaming, felt himself rip his own gun out but it was too late. Mary’s gun fired and then John’s gun did too. Two fleshy thuds almost shattered John’s mind but he only had eyes for Sherlock.

He was lying on the floor, his hand clutching over his heart. John’s was beating as fast as it ever had, he felt faint. John ripped his eyes from Sherlock’s hand as he fell to his knees beside his husband. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and he rolled his head to look at John, agony all over his beautiful face, “Ow!” 

“Ow? Ow?” John looked at Sherlock’s hand pressed to his bony chest. There was no blood. John peeled Sherlock’s hand away. There was no hole. Instead there was a slightly flattened knob of rubber resting directly over Sherlock’s heart. “I’m not dead!” Sherlock sounded as shocked as John felt.

John’s mind was in chaos. He’d shot Mary. Sherlock wasn’t dead. John shot Mary but Sherlock wasn’t dead. John’s brain looped around these facts for what felt like eternity even as he turned his head to look. Mary was groaning and pressing her left hand to the neat wound on her upper right shoulder, her gun thrown half way across the room. “Rubber bullets.” he realized.

Lestrade went to Mary and peeled back her fingers, “It’s just a flesh wound.” John’s bullets were real.

“I didn’t want to kill her.” said John distantly. If Mary had actually killed Sherlock then John hadn’t wanted Mary to die easily. He would have killed her slowly himself, and Mycroft and Greg combined would not have been able to stop him. 

Sherlock sat up, rubbing the large bruise that was already forming, “Ow!” he stated once again. John decided Sherlock was completely fine when he started to immediately complain, “Lestrade why do you use rubber bullets? Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know what kinks you and my brother indulge in.”

“Ha bloody ha Sherlock. Those are my favorites, they make a good bang but there’s practically no punch otherwise you’d be leaking now. I wasn’t about to bring a loaded weapon anywhere near this woman, I figured she try to get out of the chair a lot sooner. She slipped the cuffs almost two hours ago.” Mary now looked stunned as well as pained and Lestrade grinned at her, “Everyone forgets I’m a detective too. I can tell the difference between someone cuffed and someone un-cuffed.” Mycroft had a small smirk on his face and Sherlock made a gagging sound.

“Well played John.” Mycroft pulled out his mobile and tapped in a code. He received a message a few minutes later, “We have everything we need now. Mary, you have our thanks. Your confession will make the rest of this so much easier.”

“Confession? I didn’t confess a thing.” she scoffed, still putting on a brave face. John stood up and retrieved the medical kit he saw Mycroft or Greg had stored behind the door. Not really wanting to touch her John handed items to Greg and coached him through applying a field dressing.

Anthea appeared. “They’re on their way. Team one and two are in place. Plan is a go. We need only the access codes.” 

John was entirely confused, “Access codes to what? Where? What teams? What is going on Mycroft?”

Anthea stepped back and a small group of people flooded in with a stretcher. One was a doctor so John had a quick word before watching them whisk a strapped and bandaged Mary being taken away to wherever Mycroft kept things he’d collected. John felt a surge of relief when he realized he’d probably never see her again. That was fantastic. John felt almost buzzed now. The adrenalin rush he’d experienced was only barely beginning to subside, the chaos in his mind slowly growing calmer as he assessed the situation. Sherlock was alright. Neither of them were bleeding. Mycroft and Greg were standing close together and talking earnestly with one another in soft voices.

“John?” Sherlock held out his hand and John helped him up. The young doctor had attempted to check Sherlock but he’d snapped at the young man and John had stepped in, possessive of his right to make sure Sherlock was as hale and hearty as possible. Apart from a bruise Sherlock seemed to be fine but John watched him closely, just in case.

John pulled his husband tight, but only allowed himself a quick kiss on the cheek to reassure them both before turning to Mycroft, “Explain.” he ordered and to his surprise Mycroft did.

“I’ve had an opponent for a long time, a faceless person who always acted through a series of intermediaries. I had long suspected that Moriarty had an employer of some sort, so when we discovered that Richard Brook was merely a puppet I had a place to begin my search. Thanks to Sherlock’s information I have been able to correlate many different useful pieces of information. The interview we just had with Miss Morstan may not have to her seemed relevant but believe me it was.”

“What about Janine and Molly, where do they fit into all of this? What about Mrs. Hudson?” John worried about them still, who was this person? “Are they in danger?”

“Molly Hooper is your friend and therefore a weakness, that’s why she was targeted. Janine Brook was as much a dupe as anyone but she’s far more intelligent than her employer gives her credit for.” Mycroft paused, “Anthea, if you would?”

Anthea nodded and left. Mycroft and Greg both heaved weary sighs and John realized they hadn’t slept properly at all. “You’re off your feet. You should get some sleep.” he urged.

“We have much to do John and timing is everything. Have no fear, Gregory and I have much experience with long work hours. We’ll be fine.” Greg looked baggy and rumpled but then he so often did and John realized Mycroft was right. Both Greg and Mycroft had jobs with punishing hours. Greg seemed to exist on cheap coffee and cold take-away or at least he did until he met Mycroft. Then Greg was often blessed with surprise deliveries of hot food and gourmet coffee.

Everyone returned to the control room where Anthea’s team had taken over and were working busily. Greg flopped down on the sofa after grabbing a coffee from the freshly restocked kitchen trolley. John sat with him after getting his own coffee, and after making Mycroft, Greg and Sherlock take a sandwich each. A short while later Anthea showed up with Janine and Molly in tow.

Molly was sporting a faint love-bite low on her neck and Janine was hanging onto the shorter woman almost nervously, “She said you needed something?” Janine tilted her head toward Anthea.

“Miss Brook, if you would be so kind as to open the back door to CAM Global, that would expedite today’s efforts immensely.”

“What do you mean back door?” said Janine defensively and clutched Molly harder.

Mycroft smiled at her, looking faintly proud and just said gently, “Miss Brook, your skills are greatly wasted in your current position. If we had time I would be making you an offer to work with my team, as it happens we are rather pressed. I know you have designed a back-door into the security system of CAM Global’s head office. With that access I will be able to put the final lock on my old opponent and take him out of the running permanently. I’m afraid you’ll be out of a job but not for long, if you’re interested.”

Letting go of a smiling Molly Janine’s grin was wolfy and she shoved aside one of the younger looking people working away, “Enjoy the show.” she said and set to work. Janine was extraordinary. It took her only a few minutes and they were in. There was an impressed silence from the techs around her and Janine’s grin grew toothier and she quoted, “You can’t stop the signal Mal. Everything goes somewhere, and I go everywhere”

John decided he loved Janine right then and there. She was perfect. “I aim to misbehave.” he recited back and Janine gave a delighted laugh. The techs took over and for their enemies it was a very, very bad day.

No more shots were fired but the devastation was massive. The lost children of the estate were located, teams immediately dispatched to reunite the tearful families as soon as possible. With almost careless ease Mycroft put into play the multitude of plans he’d had prepared over the years as he waited for a target to manifest. Unlike Sherlock this Holmes was patient, able to play the long game for as long as it took. As the corporation crumbled before their eyes Mycroft seemed to grow enervated, almost smiling as he savored the success of his enemy’s defeat. Hours passed and John made sure everyone ate and had more than tea to drink while they watched the various monitors and news reports declaim the once towering giant.

Finally it was late and all of them were dragged to a huge dinner with the Smiths who had spent the day with Sieger and Violet. “All done boys?” asked Drina with a smile. She patted Violet on the hand.

“All is well son?” asked Violet at the prompt. Drina patted her hand again, “John? You are well?”

“We’re both fine Mummy, thank you. It’s all done.” Sherlock smiled over to his mother, his affection for her unfeigned. “There’s only one thing left to do.”

“What is that my boy?” asked Sieger warmly, his smile taking in all his sons in front of him.

Sherlock looked over to John, and his smile was a happy one, “Plan a wedding of course.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly done...


	18. The Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've beaten their foes, won a small war, made a LOT of good friends and now, well now it's time to get hitched.

The contingent of Smiths came and went as work called one small faction or another out into the world but by and large the majority of them remained encamped on the Holmes estate for many weeks. Violet and Drina had become firm friends while John, Greg, Francis and Sieger enjoyed many afternoons happily shooting at every sort of target they could conjure up while trying out the gun collection. Travel back and forth to London was frequent since Sherlock needed to work and forced Greg back to the Yard despite many objections from Mycroft. The fallout from their coup was still being felt and the shock in the business community was causing havoc for the civil servant who wanted to attempt and enjoy his time at home with his family. Sherlock made a fuss until things went his way and he returned to the streets of London with John by his side.

They had just spent many days untangling a rather complicated murder when the news that Mary had escaped reached them. Mycroft called in person to deliver the news. She’d somehow managed to slip away from the facility she’d been held in, unknown hands helping her from the outside world. John and Sherlock grew instantly grim. She was dangerous and vindictive. Mycroft offered comfort of sorts, “I’ve put out a missing persons bulletin asking for the whereabouts of a new employee, our latest information retrieval expert. Her old employers will believe she has betrayed them.”

It was several days before they located her body. Lestrade refused to let them come to the scene and for once Sherlock was grateful. John was silent. Mary had been shot, simply put down and discarded. John felt a bit bad about that. No one deserved to be treated that way but he had to admit to himself that if Mary had survived long enough to bother them again he would have killed her himself. Mycroft’s team removed her from the riverside where she’d been left and Sherlock took his hand, “We still have enemies John, she was a soldier as much as you were but she was too great a liability to leave alive. We will always have villains to find and we will always need to be careful.”

John nodded but remained unhappy at the ending of Mary. There was nothing to find about her past. Everything they knew about her was a construct, untraceable. Whoever she was before she was Mary was lost and John didn’t know how to feel about that. Suddenly John was glad all over again that he had Sherlock in his life, that someone somewhere knew him and would miss him if he disappeared. John wouldn’t die alone and superfluous, he and Sherlock would always be together and their life would have meaning. John told Janine and both of them just looked at one another, neither able to articulate their conflicting feelings on the matter.

The work for the Yard went as it usually did. Sherlock tolerated everyone a bit more but still found their overall incompetence irritating. Wedding plans mixed in with free time in between cases and eventually Anderson noticed something was up. They were in the middle of securing the scene of a possible homicide when he finally just said, “What’s with you two? You’re weirder than ever.”

The second he spoke Donovan chirped up, “What’s up Watson, the Freak finally beginning to rub you the wrong way? Getting tired of being called his boyfriend all the time?” Donovan was as charming as ever as she snarked at John.

“For the millionth time, he’s not my boyfriend.” said John with a put-upon sigh. “For your information Sherlock rubs me exactly the right way.”

“ _Oh god_ Watson! Do you have any _idea_ what you sound like? You keep shouting that he’s _not your boyfriend_ but then you say something like that!” Anderson was laughing crudely and it was enough to catch Sherlock’s attention, “Hey Freak, this one says you’ve been rubbing him the right way, is that true?”

“Indeed. I’ve mapped out several different techniques that John finds extremely pleasing. Perhaps you could try the same with Donovan, she seems extremely tense or are you two not on at the moment.” Sherlock was barely paying attention to them and missed the revolted look that crossed their faces as they looked back at John.

“You really let him rub you. What the hell Watson? Mr. _I’m Not Gay_?” Lestrade was making an appearance finally and looked at Donovan and Anderson with annoyance. Anderson was smirking, “Lestrade, Sherlock is rubbing his boyfriend the right way.” both of them began to laugh.

“Boyfriend? John is not Sherlock’s boyfriend, they’ve told you that a thousand times.” Lestrade came forward and stood next to Sherlock, “Well go on then.”

Sherlock looked put out and impatient about being distracted from his review of the scene. A quick glance at John though showed his doctor’s approval so Sherlock shook his head and glared at the sniggering pair, “If you’ve totally finished offering your infantile opinions you will please fall silent so my _husband_ _and I_ can do your jobs for you. Shut up!”

The silence lasted for two full minutes before Anderson and Donovan could sputter out their denials, “You’re lying! Oh my god who the fuck would want to marry _Sherlock Holmes_? It’s for a case right? You’re faking being married for a case and oh my god John, do you need help? Do you need to get away from him? You’re safe here, hey Lestrade, isn’t this sexual harassment?”

Sherlock was instantly scathing, “That you even need to clarify what laws might be broken should make me shake my head in amazement but since I know you two I’ll just have to accept your dismal incompetence as de rigueur for the Met. John Watson is my husband and has been for some time. Your inability to register such a change in our relationship speaks volumes about you as detectives and only highlights my many complaints about Anderson’s so called _expertise_.”

Donovan and Anderson turned to John in shock, “Why didn’t you tell us?” they sounded horrified.

“Was I supposed to?” John was angry now, their reactions were not surprising but he found himself beginning to lose his temper over their attitudes, “I don’t recall our agreement to keep each other apprised of our love-lives or I would have mentioned to Anderson the overnight visits of no less than five other officers to Sally’s home over the last month. Oh don’t worry Donovan, Anderson cheated right back. Not only is his still sleeping with his wife but he’s managed to go on the pull with half the secretarial pool as well. At least I know that Sherlock is faithful and he knows the same about me so why don’t you shove off and shut it?”

“You’re bloody lying. If you two were married it would be registered.” Anderson whipped out his mobile and accessed their mainframe. Donovan crowded in and both of them had glee on their faces for one whole minute before they remembered they were furious with one another and stepped apart. Anderson looked at John who was still very angry, “You’re fucking married. _Oh my god Watson, why_?”

“Bloody hell Anderson! Why do people normally get married? Is this really a valid topic of conversation for a crime scene or did gossiping like teens become part of the Yard’s protocols? Lestrade you have about one second left before I decide Sherlock isn’t that interested and we just go home. You know we’ve got a lot to do.”

“Keep your shirt on John. I don’t want to have to call in reinforcements.” Greg smiled at John.

“Fucking hell Lestrade what is going on here?” demanded Donovan as she looked back and forth at all of them.

“What’s going on here is you zipping it about John and Sherlock, letting them do their jobs and not going on about who is married to who! If John decides to make an official complaint about the pair of you it’s going to put me in a very awkward position.”

“Why!” Anderson seemed completely flummoxed.

“It’s going to be hard to explain to my boss why _my_ husband had two of my officers relocated to the Arctic because they wouldn’t shut up about his brother and _his_ husband!” Donovan and Anderson were entirely stunned and finally silent, “Yes, I’m married to Sherlock’s brother, been married a fair bit longer too.”

“That’s a conflict of interest! Isn’t it illegal for the freak to be here or something?” Anderson’s stupidity was at an all-time low and he made it worse, “What about you Lestrade, how are we supposed to trust working for you when we know it’s actually the freak’s brother who’s making everything happen?”

Lestrade stopped in is tracks and stared at Anderson. Even Donovan realized her lover had gone way too far by casting dispersions against Lestrade right to his face, “You said what?” Anderson paled and shrank back as Lestrade stalked up to him, “Excuse me if I’m wrong but I don’t recall Mycroft standing at crime scene after crime scene fixing messes you make on a daily basis. I don’t recall Mycroft being the one who’s had to go to the Commander _six separate times_ to prevent you from being fired for incompetence as well as about a million personal infractions. If you have a professional complaint about my conduct you’d better have some _iron-clad proof_ and I fucking _dare_ you to bring it against me.”

“You can’t use all the complaints the freak lodged!” Anderson just wasn’t shutting up.

“If you mean Sherlock Holmes then you’ll be interested to know he hasn’t submitted a single word in writing ever. No, that’s it. I’m pulling you off this case. Go back to the Yard Anderson. You obviously don’t have what it takes to be on the front-lines of an ongoing investigation. Donovan, escort him back to the office. Call in Simmons and Miller as replacements.”

“But they’re newbies. They don’t know anything.” complained Donovan.

“They’ll still know more than you!”  Donovan left with her head almost hanging while Anderson attempted to protest some more. Lestrade was angry now and waved John and Sherlock back to the crime scene while he pulled out his mobile to call his superiors.

“That was the loveliest wedding present Lestrade. Thank you.” Greg rolled his eyes because Sherlock sounded sincere. “Well it was. I doubt anyone else is going to get us something better than watching those two irritants get put down. Thank you again Lestrade. John thanks you too. He’s just forgotten his manners at the moment.”

Sherlock felt energized and focused now. He glanced over the scene and rattled off his conclusions to Greg who took notes until reinforcements showed up twenty minutes later. “Ah good, new personnel, pay attention to me and you won’t go wrong like your predecessors. Observe.”

Sherlock walked the two new Yarders through the scene, lecturing them on what he’d noticed and John grinned as the newcomers paid close attention and didn’t fuss about a civilian teaching them how to do their job better. It reminded John of his early days with Sherlock when the detective would coax John patiently through the scene until John eventually learned to read the evidence nearly as easily as his best friend.

Mycroft called, “Why don’t you talk to Greg directly?” sighed John who walked toward the DI but Mycroft cut him off, “It’s about your wedding plans. Mummy has discarded all your suggestions with the exception of your guest list which she is honoring. Everything else had been…”

“Been what Mycroft! What is your mother doing to my wedding?” John was getting angry all over again.

“It’s not just Mummy. It’s Mrs. Smith. Apparently in her family the men have little or nothing to do with wedding planning so she’s taken over helping Mummy arrange everything. It will be colorful.” Mycroft sounded apologetic.

John didn’t really have anything to say after that, “Oh. Well. I guess if Drina is taking charge that’s alright. I’ll just let Sherlock know.” There really wasn’t anything more to say. John owed the Smiths everything and if Drina wanted to arrange his wedding then he could hardly say no.

“They’ve approved the best person positions though.”

“Oh, well that’s something at least. Have they been told?”

“Yes, Mrs. Smith has everyone’s mobile numbers. She’s very organized. All you will need to do is show up at the appointed time.

“Clothes?” There was an uncomfortable silence on the mobile, “Mycroft what about our wedding clothes?”

“Mrs. Smith assures me that your wedding outfits will be absolutely perfect. She has several relatives in the middle of sewing them together even as we speak.”

“Gypsies are making my wedding clothes.”

“Some gypsies not all of them but yes, I’ve been assured it will all be very tastefully done. I shouldn’t worry.” Mycroft ended the conversation quickly, “Call if you need anything.”

John closed his eyes for a moment and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that he wouldn’t be wearing sequins or ruffles of any description. He realized Sherlock was talking to him, “Bad news John?” John passed along what he’d been told and Sherlock merely shrugged, “Thank goodness, I love you John but I swear, I’d rather be locked in mortal combat rather than go through one more session with the planner.”

“You’d prefer to be locked in mortal combat rather than go to the shops for milk, what does that say.” John shook his head. He’d do whatever was asked of him. All that was important was that they would be able to say their vows in front of everyone who mattered to them, even if some of them were relatives.

John’s mobile sang out with a pop song he didn’t recognize, “Drina?”

“Hullo John! Mycie said he called and told you so we’ll be seeing you lads next week, Thursday at your mum’s. Get here no later than nine in the morning, everything is ready. I’ve got some of my girls making the cake, it will be charming!”

“We can’t thank you enough Drina, really, this is all so much.”

“Nonsense John, all mine are grown and married. I haven’t had a chance to marry anyone off in years now. Violet is having a good time, she’s smiling and everything, it’s lovely. Now if you boys have a bit of fun the night before try not to show up drunk alright? Do you need Francis to come get you or can you make your way here on your own?” John was suddenly very choked up as Drina mothered him effortlessly.

“We’ll be there, nine sharp next Thursday, we promise. Nothing can stop us.” John wasn’t going to disappoint Drina. Thursday was their big day and suddenly John couldn’t wait. Drina gave John a merry farewell and rang off.

Sherlock came over, his eyes darting all over John’s face as he took in John’s sentiment reddened eyes and pressed lips, “What happened.”

“Nothing bad, Drina is a very loving woman and I guess for a minute I just missed my mum. She would have loved Drina to pieces.” Sherlock stood close to John and took his hand discretely for a moment, “We’re to present ourselves at the estate next Thursday at nine in the morning. Not drunk, that was the specification.”

“I’ll manage somehow.” teased Sherlock who gave John a minute to collect himself, “Come along John, crime is waiting and we have less than a week to solve this.”

Their last week went by too quickly and soon John and Sherlock found themselves packed up and in a town car being driven to the estate early on Thursday morning. It was a bit drizzly outside but neither man cared. It made the air seem fresh and crisp. They held hands during the ride but otherwise said nothing and simply enjoyed the view and each other’s company.

John was a bit surprised when they arrived and saw that the long drive-way had been fitted with what looked like panels of sky-blue fabric that stretched up at least three meters and curved inward to prevent anyone from seeing the property. They were driven right up to the door, the driver insisting that he would deal with their luggage. Drina and Violet met them at the door, “Well done boys. It’s exactly nine.” John felt absurdly proud that he’d made Drina smile.

Violet looked at Sherlock before leaning in and kissing his cheek softly, “We have a schedule to keep Sherlock. You will see John again presently.” She looked at her son who took his cue to kiss John and allow himself to be led away. Drina took John’s hand and patted it, “Come along my boy, we’ve got a set of rooms waiting for you.” a set of rooms? For what!

Drina led him to an apartment that had been given over entirely to preparing John for his big day. Drina fed him a hearty breakfast, making sure he cleared his plate before making him shower again, ignoring his protests that he’d showered already, “Brush your teeth and floss too!” she ordered, behaving as if she didn’t hear a word he said, “Ten minutes boyo or I’m coming in there after you.”

John took the fastest shower of his life. He came out and found all his clothes had vanished and had been replaced with a fluffy white terry-cloth robe and matching slippers. He put them on and shuffled out to the front room. There was a barber there. John was seated and shaved within an inch of his life. Not one whisker could be felt when the man with the straight-blade was done. John’s hair was then given the tiniest of trims just to straighten up some of the unruly bits and then Drina forced him to rinse off one more time.

John dried off for the third time and then he was treated to a massage by a rather jolly older woman named Chrissy to told John amusing stories about traveling with her late husband while she worked out knots in John’s sore shoulder. He felt energetic when she finished and found he was looking forward to the rest of the day with increased excitement.

Drina brought in someone to see to John’s feet. He’d never had anything like it done before and found it strange to have smooth pink heels and perfectly trimmed toenails. A dresser came in, a short slim man in a waistcoat who wheeled in a large mobile wardrobe. Drina turned her back but still kept commenting about this son or that as John was dressed from the skin on out in his new clothes. “I hope you like the suit John, I know we haven’t known you long but we tried to make it right.”

It was amazing. It fit John like a glove and when he looked at himself in the full-length mirror John felt handsome. Drina stood behind him and smiled, “It’s perfect.” John’s suit was black and cut to accent the strength of his body. The shirt was white and crisp and his tie was black and unassuming. The one bright point was the waistcoat that went with it, that was a shiny mossy green and was heavily embroidered with gold thread. When John did up his jacket button he felt very smart indeed.

“It’s time John.” Drina kissed his cheek again and led John to the door. When he opened it Molly was waiting for him.

“Wow! Molly! Look at you!” Molly’s dress was eye-catching to say the least. John was very certain he’d never once seen Molly Hooper’s bare mid-drift but there it was, and she had a jewel of some kind in her navel. A full skirt fell to the floor and it was made of some kind of see through material but there were so many layers that all John got were impressions of hints. There was gold embroidery at the edges too; it made the bottom of Molly’s skirt flare out when she moved. The outfit was a pink so pale it was almost creamy and was extravagantly accessorized even up to the many sparkled clips that kept Molly’s hair arranged in a cascade of rich brown curls.

Her fingers twisted together and she looked worried, “I know. It’s too much isn’t it?”

“Don’t even. Wow Molly. If Sherlock and I weren’t already married and you and Janine…wow.” Molly had never looked so gorgeous. It was as if every sultry secret hidden deep beneath her rumpled cardigans and discount blouses had been dragged right out in the open and dusted with glitter.

Molly blushed profusely but let John take her arm. Drina had disappeared with a last fond smile and the next time John saw her was waiting at the alter for Sherlock. There was a massive crowd. John only recognized some of the faces. There were a lot of his old army mates, both active and retired, people he was on good terms with from St. Bart’s, a selection of Yarders which surprised him somewhat and a very healthy portion of Smiths filled out the rest of John’s side. He saw his sister in the front pew with her ex-wife Clara, both women looking more than a little uncomfortable. John ignored Harry, this wasn’t her day. It was his.

Sherlock’s side of the ballroom was filled with elegantly dressed and well-mannered people. All of them looked like diplomats, and John suddenly understood where Mycroft got his fashion sense from. If every Holmes out there had been holding an umbrella John would not have been surprised. Violet and Sieger sat in the front with Mrs. Hudson but Drina and Francis sat beside Harry and John rather liked that.

 John stopped taking in everything else when he laid eyes on him. The detective was preceded by Molly and then Janine who matched the other woman perfectly but all John could register was that Sherlock was unbelievably gorgeous. Where John’s suit was plain Sherlock’s was extravagant. Both men were in black but somehow the small details of Sherlock’s suit made it seem decadent. His waistcoat was silver on a rich purple, the embroidery pattern similar to John’s waistcoat. His tie was black but almost shining. His curls were riotous and elegant at the same time and he was on his father’s arm. Sieger was dressed in a suit similar to John’s plain but well made. He handed over his son with a soft smile and went to join Violet on the pew.

John couldn’t think of anything but how incredible Sherlock looked and how the vows they both shared in front of everyone couldn’t possibly encompass all the promises they’d already made and all the ones they had yet to make but John got to show how very much he loved the tall blushing man at his side. He didn’t miss how Sherlock’s eyes teared up when John put a heavy gold ring on his finger. When they were presented to the assembly Sherlock’s smile was huge and sincere, John was beaming from ear to ear and he could not stop.

They endured hugs and well-wishes from what felt like hundreds of people, both men being passed around to have their hands shaken, their shoulders clapped or their waists squeezed by an endless parade of people. Sherlock didn’t mind, he liked the attention and he liked knowing so many people knew that John was his. John expected some kind of formal dinner and was very surprised when he and Sherlock were attacked and carried away by a group of young Smith men and taken to the exterior of the house. A large series of open sided-tents were set up and a large group of musicians seemed to have randomly assembled. There was already music playing and there were clusters of chairs here and there as well as several fires in braziers. A portion of the formal yard seemed to have been turned into some kind of open kitchen that was being peopled by a group of merry cooks who had large portions of what looked like every creature under the sun cooking over racks or on spits.

Brightly dressed people moved in and through the crowds serving food and drink to all who milled about visiting and getting to know one another. The Smiths were dab hands at starting conversations, not caring who they spoke to so everyone found themselves part of a group despite their social or political standings. It was more enjoyable than Sherlock and John expected.

After everyone had been given ample time to eat the music began, once again starting with a single fiddle player and a singer.  Sherlock was presented with his violin and after pressing a kiss to John’s cheek he stood and joined the young couple standing almost casually in the middle of the crowd. Sherlock slipped easily into their song, providing an almost discordant harmony that got nods of approval from the Smiths attending and after several minutes of listening small hand instruments began to show up. It didn’t take long before pennywhistles and tambourines were joined by bodhráns, guitars, lap harps and even a couple of accordions. There didn’t seem to be a song, everyone just played and it worked. Musicians joined in or dropped out as drinks and more food were served. A gigantic cake was wheeled out, hand decorated to look like John and Sherlock’s caravan with two cartoon figures peeking through the window. One was fair and one was dark. John laughed and kissed Drina. “It’s got different flavors all the way through. I don’t like making the same cake too often.”

“It’s brilliant, really, it’s just brilliant.” Sherlock put his violin back in his case so he could put his arm around John. “You’re brilliant too.”

“You’re being sentimental.”

“It’s my wedding day. I may cry.” John made an extra soppy face at Sherlock who chuckled and pecked a kiss onto John’s forehead. “I don’t even know where we’re going on our honeymoon. Did we get a say in that at least?”

“Not really John but I figure you’ll like it anyway.” said Drina with a fond smile, “Go say goodbye to whoever. It’s time for you boys to be off.” John and Sherlock gave her a kiss and went to do their rounds. Violet and Sieger gave them both hugs and kisses, Mrs. Hudson cried on them, Harry said nothing which was the best gift she could have given John. Their sibling rancour had tainted nearly all their interactions and they had not been close in a long time. Greg and Mycroft merely said they’d see them later and everyone else wished them well on their way.

The party was just getting started, all their guests very distracted by the dancing that was beginning. John grinned and momentarily regretted leaving so soon. Janine and Molly came by and made John promise to call them whenever they returned to London. Sherlock rolled his eyes when Janine gave him a big squeeze but didn’t hesitate to give his new friend a goodbye kiss on the cheek, “One last thing lover-boy.”

John and Sherlock found themselves being herded toward the parking-lot. John laughed when he saw their caravan waiting for them, decked out in ropes of flowers with a couple of balloons on the antenna. Someone had brought Sherlock’s violin and the cupboards and small fridge were packed with pre-made meals, the tanks and reservoirs were full, and Sherlock’s fuzzy bees now sported tiny top-hats. Francis showed up and gave John a map of Europe with a sheet of names and telephone numbers, “This is the family. Wherever you go you can find a place to park yourselves if you give one of these numbers a call. Everyone knows you’re roaming so there’s no rush. Go wherever you’d like, family is waiting.”

John was very moved and Sherlock surprised him by giving Francis a warm hug. Francis beamed and looked proud and teary as if he were sending his own sons off into the world, “Thank you for this. Our honeymoon will be that much more enjoyable knowing we’ll have the Smiths to rely on. Francis shook John’s hand hard and made himself leave; escorting Molly and Janine back to the festivities. John and Sherlock climbed into the seats, John winning the coin toss to see who got to drive first.

There was an envelope on the dash which Sherlock opened, “If we drive straight through we’ll make the Tunnel for the midnight run. We’ll be in Europe then and we can go where we please from there.” That’s what they did. Traffic was minimal and their reservations saw them onboard the vehicle shuttle and trundling their way beneath the water. The trip seemed to take no time at all, affording John and Sherlock a chance to just kiss and hold each other for a while. By the time they got to the other side though John was dead on his feet so Sherlock took over the driving while John dozed in the passenger seat.

John was woken sometime later when Sherlock pressed a tender kiss to his lips, “We’re parked for the night John. Come to bed.”

John allowed himself to be brought to the back and stripped down. By the time Sherlock joined him between the cool sheets John had woken up enough to respond to Sherlock’s enquiring kisses. Gentle caresses grew more and more heated as they began to relax and revel in each other. Sherlock grew wilder as he began to lay claim to his doctor, kissing John everywhere, “You actually married me John! You want to be with me, you told absolutely everyone!” Sherlock’s voice was filled with a mixture of emotions, gladness, love, and a large amount of relief.

“Of course I did Sherlock! I’m yours aren’t I, always will be. I’ve been since the day we met; it just took so long for me to figure it all out. God I’m glad we’re here though.” John climbed on top of Sherlock, kissing him ardently, “I’ll always be your John, you’ll never ever have to doubt it Sherlock. No matter where we go or who we’re with, no matter what bizarre or unexplainable thing happens I will always be your John. I’ll never be anyone else’s.”

Sherlock simply glowed. He smiled and began to kiss John back, their passions escalating until both men were gasping and trying to touch each other everywhere. For John everything was exactly perfect and for Sherlock things absolutely could not be better. Both men felt deliriously in love, both men felt completely connected to their lover, and both men felt the strength of their affections right down to their very bones.

Tonight was a new beginning, another beginning that would lead to another beginning as John and Sherlock walked the earth together, or at least for the next while, trundled around in their caravan. They’d make love for as long as they could wherever they could manage; they’d solve crime and accidentally get kidnapped. They’d overcome foes and find each other once more. They’d achieve impossible things because nothing was truly impossible, not when you had a John Watson and a Sherlock Holmes perfectly in synch with each other.

Two weeks later Sherlock got sick again but it was a regular cold he picked up from a group of children he’d been talking to at a farmers market. John lovingly nursed him back to health. A week after he got better he cut his arm accidentally, but it was while chasing down a mugger who robbed a woman right in front of them so despite being in a foreign country they gave chase, kicked the man around for a second before finding the lady still standing in the street crying and gave her back her possessions. Sherlock spoke to her in what John assumed was German because that’s where they were. He didn’t understand but the woman hugged them both and everyone went happily on their way. John smiled at Sherlock who put his arm around his still slightly panting husband. John’s eyes were bright and his knuckles were red where the mugger had damaged them by getting his face in the way. He inspected Sherlock’s cut and tutted. He had what they needed at the caravan. “Shall we continue?” said Sherlock with a wide sweep of his good arm. They didn’t have anywhere particular to go but John nodded his head briskly, “Then let’s go.” That’s what they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super-satisfied with how the end bit went but I'm still hoping everyone enjoyed the story. I'm moving along with the Let's Write Sherlock (http://letswritesherlock.tumblr.com/post/92844722125/challenge-15-trope-bingo-how-does-one-play) thingy so I hope you follow along and guess which card I chose, or maybe you want to write as well. I don't know. I'm not a mind-reader though that would be COOL. Off I go.
> 
> Subscribe to my feed if you'd like updates on upcoming projects. I tend to develop a lot of stories in one huge go.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome :)


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